Broken Fragrance

By Sukesh Kumar Srivastava

"Rajneesh Bhai." Someone placed a hand on his shoulder from behind.

Hameed Gul turned around as quickly as lightning. Before the man behind could understand, Hameed Gul twisted his arm and was behind him, his right hand choking the man's neck like a pincer. Hameed's knee pressed into the man's back, and the man had become helpless. His face had turned red, and his eyes were bulging.

"Hey Raj...Rajneesh Bhai." He somehow said, "I am Irfan. I...I came to pick you up. Please let go of my neck. I can't breathe."

Hameed Gul took a deep breath and released his grip from Irfan's neck. Irfan started taking deep breaths and rubbed his neck.

"You...You... almost killed me." He said, catching his breath.

"How's the air in Lahore?" Hameed Gul asked calmly.

"Oh..." Now Irfan stood calmly, "As damp as a matchstick inside its box."

"When do we have to go to Delhi?" Hameed Gul asked again.

"After Akbar's coronation." Irfan replied promptly.

"I'm sorry, Irfan." Hameed Gul embraced Irfan, "It was my mistake."

"The mistake was mine, Rajneesh Bhai," Irfan said, holding both of Hameed Gul's hands, "I startled you. But you were alert."

"Who's this Rajneesh?" Hameed Gul smiled and said, "My name is Hameed Gul."

"Yes, Hameed Gul. But your real name is Rajneesh."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sukesh Kumar Srivastava
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224560356

Book preview

Part – 1

The bus was jolting continuously.

Gul Hameed had tightly grabbed the window which had no glass fitted. There was also no handle on the seat. The bus moved with abrupt jerks. Even then, the bus was moving at a pretty good speed. The condition of the road was, to put it best, outstandingly bad. There was no trace of asphalt or any tar on it. Because of this, a cloud of dust arose wherever the bus went. Whenever a stone or a brick fragment came under the bus wheels, it jumped sharply, but Sultan handled it skillfully with the steering wheel. The bus stopped at a place, and Sultan shouted loudly,

Anyone getting off at Usman Ganj, get down now. The bus won’t stop later.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand. Three people and four goats disembarked. But a man, a woman, and two donkeys climbed aboard. Real donkeys. No one objected. In fact, one man even helped load the donkeys. They all moved to the rear to make space. Everyone made way.

Close it, Sultan yelled again.

A boy standing at the bus step pulled the door shut with a loud thud. The bus swayed. Sultan started the bus again. Just then, Hameed Gul was startled. He quickly moved his leg forward. A goat, wandering near his seat, was starting to chew on one end of his flared pajama.

Whose damned goat is this? Sultan’s face was towards the road, but it seemed as if he had an extra set of eyes inside the bus,

Don't know, sir. He belongs to some influential people. Say something now and you all might spend your lives searching for your four wives. Move back!

A bald, dark-skinned man, around fifty-five years of age and a herder, quickly came forward. He grabbed the goat with both hands.

This one's quite naughty, sir, he said, trying to appease, Just take your eyes off her for a second, and you'll find her near the village pond. Forgive us, sir. I'll hold onto them now.

It's alright, said Hameed Gul softly.

He didn't want to engage in much conversation. The man sat down right there, with the goat now resting in his lap, cuddling him.

Are you from the government, sir? He asked softly.

Government...? Hameed Gul was genuinely puzzled.

I mean... are you with the big boss...?

Don’t chatter too much, goat herder, Sultan interrupted sharply from his seat, If you ask too many questions, one day a jeep might show up at your door, and this time they might take your third wife. Understand? And she's quite pretty too.

There was a loud burst of laughter in the entire bus. Everyone, even the women, started laughing heartily. Sultan turned his head to look at Hameed Gul. But Hameed Gul couldn't understand the reason behind the laughter, so he didn't join in. He looked serious. Sultan's laughter stopped.

There was a girl during the festival of Bakrid, he began to explain. There's a village nearby called Allaganj. It's by the road. The girls there are beautiful. Everyone kept advising that beautiful girls should be kept confined inside their homes here. But where's the wisdom in that? They would say, 'She's still very young, it's her age to play and have fun.' But, sir, twelve or thirteen years is not too young. Then one day, a man in a jeep went by. The girl was sitting on a mango tree, eating mangoes, laughing, and chatting with her friends. The man stopped his jeep and the girl was nowhere to be found afterward. Her friends said that she was taken away in that jeep. Since that day, every time he sees an official, he hopes he could bring his daughter back. Oh sir, he doesn’t understand where the girls could be now. She might have even reached China by now.

Hameed Gul turned his head to look at Bakride (the man being referred to). He was now hiding his face in the back of his goat and crying. He looked truly pitiable.

Is your name Bakride? Hameed Gul asked softly.

No... No, sir, he replied with a hiccup, People started calling me that because of my goat business. My actual name is Abdul Ansari.

You trade in goats?

Yes, sir. I have fifty goats and sheep. I'm going to Lahore to sell them.

Why? Isn't there a market nearby? Hameed Gul inquired.

There is, he replied quickly, Gyanpur, sir. But the prices there aren't as good. Lahore has a bigger market. You're not from around here, are you?

Hey Bakride! Sultan yelled, Do you want to die? You'll get yourself killed and get us killed too. There's Khuldabad two kilometers from here. Get off here. And never get on my bus again. Gather your three goats.

No, Sultan bro, Bakride pleaded, Don't do this injustice. How will I get anywhere from here?

Hey Jamile! Drop him off at Khuldabad, Sultan ordered again. The boy near the gate came quickly and grabbed Bakride by his collar.

I'll get off, brother, Bakride stood up, Don't be rude. Just help me get my goats off.

Jamile or Jamil moved forward and began pulling on the goat's rope. Bakride stood tearfully beside Hameed Gul.

What's your daughter's name, Abdul? Hameed Gul whispered.

Sal... Salma, sir, Bakride whispered back.

I promise you, Hameed Gul's voice was soft but firm, If Salma is alive, I'll bring her back to your village, Allapur. Even if she has gone to China. Trust me.

Hameed Gul faced him. Khuldabad arrived. Jamil pushed and first let out the goat, then he threw out his three goats. Sultan moved the bus forward. No one else got down there.

'How many Salmas will you bring back, sir?' Sultan said with sadness, 'Here, you'll find dozens whose parents are wandering from door to door searching for them.'

'How much time is left to reach Lahore, Sultan bhai (brother)?' Hameed Gul thought it better not to speak more on this matter.

'You called me bhai (brother)?' Sultan turned his face towards him in surprise.

'What's wrong in calling you bhai (brother), Sultan bhai?'

'No offense, sir.' Sultan looked back at the road, 'Here, the trend is not to call someone bhai. People usually use abe (hey) or saale (slang). Lahore is just about to come. It's hardly ten kilometers away.'

'It will take an hour,' a man sitting behind said, 'The road ahead is even worse. And this bus... it's just...MashaAllah...'

'It won't take an hour, Salim bhai,' Sultan said, 'At most, forty-five minutes. If you don't like the bus, buy your own vehicle.'

The man named Salim at the back didn't respond.

'One of our distant niece has also gone missing, sir.' Sultan seemed to be speaking to himself, 'It's been three years now. We haven't found any trace of her. A mullah (religious cleric) had taken her. Everyone knew, but no one could do anything. I heard she was seen in the red market of Rawalpindi.'"

Why? Even though he didn't want to, the word slipped out of Hameed Gul's mouth, When you knew, why didn’t you report it to the police?

Police? Sultan looked at Hameed Gul in such a way that he shuddered. Here, the police are helpless against the clergymen and uniforms. No one dares to say anything.

Hameed Gul remained silent. He didn't want to show that he was not from around here. Sultan too became quiet, seemingly lost in his sorrows.

Lahore was just ten kilometers away, but it felt as if they were passing through a remote village. There were no roads at first, but then it felt like the bus was moving across an open field. There seemed to be houses and shops around, but an aura of desolation hung in the air. Everyone was silently seated as the bus continued its journey. Suddenly, they reached a road. The bus swayed onto the road and began moving properly. Now, they could see bigger houses. There were also some showrooms.

Drop us here, Sultan brother, someone said.

Sultan applied a hard brake,

You should've informed me earlier.

A young man and a woman in a burka disembarked. Sultan moved the bus forward.

Will you drop me off at the bus stand? Hameed Gul asked. He had been shown a map and had it explained to him.

Oh no, sir, Sultan seemed more relaxed now, There's an open space right next to the bus stand. This is a private bus. It won’t enter the bus stand. It doesn't have a permit. Only General Sahab’s bus can go inside; no one dares say anything to him, or it would be troublesome.

General Sahab? Hameed Gul was taken aback, Which General Sahab?

The one who sent you. He runs thirty buses. None of them have a permit; they run on his name. No one dares to challenge him. What's your name?

Raj... I mean, Hameed Gul. What happened?

Sultan laughed heartily, Nothing. You probably have no idea about this place. Where do you want to go?

Hameed Gul felt that Sultan might know Brigadier Sahab. So he didn't hesitate to share. It would make things easier.

I need to go to Mohiuddinpur. How far is it from here?

It's not far. Maybe three to four kilometers. You can take a rickshaw. It will cost ten rupees. But it's in the old city, within the walled part.

Walled city... Oh, you mean the walled city.

Yes, sir. Here we are. Sultan parked the bus in a small open space.

Everyone started disembarking quickly. The atmosphere filled with the bleating of goats. Hameed Gul remained seated. Once everyone left, he too got up.

Goodbye, sir. Be careful.

What do you mean? Hameed Gul stopped.

I mean... you probably don't have any papers. Don't get into any trouble. Local police keep roaming. You'll unnecessarily get into a mess over five or ten thousand rupees.

Without replying, Hameed Gul disembarked.

::::::::::::

Until now, Hameed Gul was relatively at ease. But now he had become completely alert. After alighting from the bus, he stood on one side. At this moment, he was fully vigilant. He glanced around in all directions. The place where he was standing was rather empty. All the passengers had quickly walked away after getting off the bus. Sultan had also parked the bus and left. Behind the spot where he stood was a dilapidated room-like structure. Its roof had fallen in. The door was either broken or had been removed by someone. Now, Hameed Gul was thinking whether he should look for transportation to Moheeduddinpur or just start walking. He knew that Moheeduddinpur was only three or four kilometers away from there.

Rajneesh Bhai. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder from behind.

Hameed Gul turned around as quickly as lightning. Before the man behind could understand, Hameed Gul twisted his arm and was behind him, his right hand choking the man's neck like a pincer. Hameed's knee pressed into the man's back, and the man had become helpless. His face had turned red, and his eyes were bulging.

Hey Raj...Rajneesh Bhai. He somehow said, I am Irfan. I...I came to pick you up. Please let go of my neck. I can't breathe.

Hameed Gul took a deep breath and released his grip from Irfan's neck. Irfan started taking deep breaths and rubbed his neck.

You...You... almost killed me. He said, catching his breath.

How's the air in Lahore? Hameed Gul asked calmly.

Oh... Now Irfan stood calmly, As damp as a matchstick inside its box.

When do we have to go to Delhi? Hameed Gul asked again.

After Akbar's coronation. Irfan replied promptly.

I'm sorry, Irfan. Hameed Gul embraced Irfan, It was my mistake.

The mistake was mine, Rajneesh Bhai, Irfan said, holding both of Hameed Gul's hands, I startled you. But you were alert.

Who's this Rajneesh? Hameed Gul smiled and said, My name is Hameed Gul.

Yes, Hameed Gul. But your real name is Rajneesh.

Don't be silly, Irfan, Hameed Gul whispered, Someone might hear. Just call me Hameed Gul. Shall I tell you something?

What, brother?

I've even forgotten the name Rajneesh.

Irfan burst into laughter.

Where do we have to go? Hameed Gul wasn't laughing, just smiling slightly.

There... our place. We'll meet some more people.

Is that place safe?

In our country, no place is safe, Irfan became serious, Even graves aren't safe.

Why? What's wrong with the graves?

Here, graves are dug up, and body parts are removed. There are buyers for them. People guard graves for up to eight or ten days, sir.

How do we go? Can we find a rickshaw or auto?

Everything is available. If you want and have cash, even a Mercedes will come. But we will walk.

Why so, Irfan?

Actually, you don't have any identification cards right now. Here, autos and rickshaws are watched by law enforcement. Once all documents are sorted, then there's no issue.

How long will it take?

At most half an hour. We will go through the alleys. That's the old Lahore.

Then let's go. What's the point of standing here?

Yes, Rajneesh... I apologize. Mr. Hameed Gul. Please come this way. Irfan hesitated a bit, You don't have any weapon with you, do you?

No. It was strictly prohibited.

Irfan didn't say anything, turned around, exited the field through a narrow space, crossed the road, and disappeared into an alley. Rajneesh or Hameed Gul was a step behind him.

Hameed Gul wasn't sure why he took a liking to Irfan. Irfan appeared to be a young man around 22-23 years old, slightly tan, lean but healthy-looking. His eyes were big and dark, and he had a long face. He was wearing a brown Pathani suit with slippers resembling Kolhapuri chappals. The way he spoke was respectful. While speaking, he unintentionally moved his long arms.

Suddenly, the face of Rashmi appeared before Hameed Gul. Rashmi was recovering quickly, but he hadn't had a chance to see her again. The three bullets in her abdomen were lethal. It was sheer luck that she survived. Or, did she? Hameed Gul knew that Rashmi's life was now tied to him, but he couldn't offer her his own. Rashmi had never hidden her affection for him. He couldn't express his feelings for her, even silently, as he felt he didn't have the right to his own life. How could he offer it to someone else, even if it were Rashmi? The significance of Rashmi in his life became clear when she was hit by three bullets from Mahfuz Ali and was unconscious in the hospital. He couldn't remember the following three days. When Rashmi had opened her eyes, he felt alive. He jokingly mortgaged his gold ring to Rashmi to pay the hotel bill. It seemed Rashmi took that joke seriously. Even after requesting multiple times, she refused to return it. But when she regained consciousness in the hospital, she tried returning it. Hameed Gul, who was Rajneesh at the time, took the ring and made it clear how much he loved her but couldn't accept her as his life partner. He also mentioned that his life belonged to his country. The only thing he remembered after that was Rashmi's words, Return my ring, Rajneesh.

Those words forced him to promise that he would kill the person who caused her so much pain with his own hands.

Here you are, sir. Irfan's voice came to his ears, Our destination is in the next alley.

Sir...? Hameed Gul replied in surprise.

Now I will address you as 'Janab'. Would that be wrong?

No. But not sir. I want to feel like one of you. And don't say 'you' either. Address me informally and call me brother.

Yes, that'll be better. Let's go.

Irfan had reached in front of a two-storeyed building that looked like a ruin. The house was in a dilapidated condition. However, the walls and roof were intact. The bricks of the walls were sticking out. The ledge was certainly half-broken. There wasn't even a question of paint on it. The houses next to it were in the same condition, and all the houses were connected to each other. It seemed like a colony of the poor which looked centuries old. The street was narrow, and sewage water was flowing at various places in the street. The door was old, worn-out, and dark but sturdy. It had thick iron chains. The door was big and open. Perhaps it was always kept open. In front was a dark corridor. After climbing three steps, Irfan stepped into the corridor.

Come in, Hameed Bhai. This place is safe.

Irfan quickly moved forward in the corridor,

Security personnel don't dare to come here.

Alright, Hameed said, Let's go.

Rooms were built on both sides of the corridor. Dirty, cramped rooms from which a foul odor emanated. These rooms were filled with people, families. Small children were playing. They were crying. Voices of women, who were scolding them, could be heard. Most of the room doors were open. A few had dirty cloth-like curtains fluttering.

Who are these people? Hameed Gul asked while walking.

This is the real Pakistan, brother, Irfan said, There's another Pakistan where there's cleanliness. There are huge houses like mansions or bungalows. Where money flows like water. Our military personnel, officers of institutions, and mullahs live there. These people here work as domestic help there, or they set up stalls, sell vegetables, fruits. Many work in junk. And...and many are involved in criminal activities. They steal, murder, gamble, and drink.

But drinking is haram in Islam, Irfan, Hameed Gul remarked.

Irfan laughed heartily.

Islam...? Where's Islam in Pakistan, Hameed Bhai? Everything is here but no Islam.

But there are lakhs or maybe crores of mosques here. The number of mullahs here is unparalleled.

That doesn't bring Islam, brother. You'll see for yourself. During Ramadan, the price of alcohol bottles doubles here. The disrespect for Islam here is unparalleled. Islam is commercialized here, not practiced. Islam is used for caste benefits. In Islam, everyone is equal. But as you see, these poor people live a life like insects, while those who commercialize Islam live like kings.

But these madrasas...? They also teach equality.

Our madrasas don't educate. They are factories to corrupt the minds of children and make them helpless, brother. But let it be. You'll get time for these discussions. You'll see for yourself later. Let's go upstairs.

While talking, they reached the end of the corridor. Stairs were leading upstairs from there. The staircase was quite broad. It was dirty. The stairs turned upwards. Following Irfan, Hameed Gul reached the upper level. The stairs opened into a corridor similar to the one below.

But here, there was a bit of light. There were rooms on both sides. Irfan moved forward.

'The rent for the rooms on this floor is higher, brother.' Irfan informed.

'Why is that, Irfan?' Hameed Gul asked.

'As you can see, there's light here. Below, there's no chance of sunlight or air coming in.'

'How much is the rent here?'

'Five hundred rupees for one room. The rest, like bathing and other needs, have to be done outside.'

'Considering the reputation of Lahore city, the rent isn't too high.'

'Whether it's low or high depends on what the payer can afford. Only poor people come to stay here. For them, paying five hundred rupees as rent is a struggle.'

After five rooms, there was a very narrow staircase leading upwards. Irfan stepped onto the first step of the staircase. Hameed Gul looked at him.

'A room has been arranged for you, at the top. There won't be any noise here. You will live in peace. The rent is higher. But the boss said so. The toilet is also up there.'

Hameed Gul didn't respond but stepped forward. They climbed the stairs and reached the terrace. Seeing the terrace, Hameed Gul was amazed. It was a vast terrace, as large as the building. It wasn't clean, but its vastness was appealing. There was a raised boundary all around the terrace, intact in most places. On the left side of the terrace, there was a room that seemed large. Irfan stepped forward, took out a key from his pocket, and unlocked the big, sturdy lock on the door. The room was indeed spacious, probably fourteen by fourteen feet. Inside the room, there was a cot with a sheet spread on it. Apart from this, there was a table and a chair. On the table, there was a lantern and two or three matchboxes. Hameed Gul moved forward and picked up the lantern. It was an old-fashioned, heavy lantern with a round glass. The lantern was filled with fuel.

'There's an electricity connection, brother. But power is rarely available. We mostly rely on the lantern. Kerosene is also hard to come by. I apologize, this is the best I could arrange.'

'No, no, Irfan,' Hameed Gul quickly said, 'The room is splendid. I hadn't imagined this.'

'Look at this,'

Irfan moved to the right side of the room and lifted a piece of the floor. It was a tile placed in a concealed manner. Hameed Gul leaned in to look. Underneath the tile was a hole about two by one foot, around ten inches deep. He looked at Irfan with surprise.

'You can keep your valuable things in here,' Irfan whispered, 'No one will know.'

'Special things...?' Hameed Gul didn't understand.

'I mean... like a transmitter... and so on...'

Hameed Gul laughed out loud.

'I don't have any transmitter, Irfan. I have no need for such things.'

'What are you saying, sir?' Irfan couldn't believe it. 'Then how do you... I mean... how do you communicate from there?'

'Times have changed, Irfan,' Hameed Gul said with a smile. 'Transmitters and the like are a thing of the past. Now there are many other means. But never mind. Close this up. It might come in handy.'

Irfan nodded as if he understood. He bent down and fit the tile back in its place.

'That's a cupboard over there. It has some things you might need. Please check. If you need anything else, let me know. The bathroom is right next to the room. It also has a shower. You can rest now. Please wash your hands and face. Change your clothes. They are in the cupboard. We have taken measurements approximately of your size. The attire you're wearing from Lucknow is not much in vogue here."

So, what do people wear here?

Oh, everyone wears a variety of things, brother. Jeans are very popular. Otherwise, people wear Pathani suits. I'll be back in half an hour. Abdul will come by then.

Who is Abdul?

He's a skilled craftsman. He is preparing all your documents. Only your photo will remain original. I'll come and take you. You'll be served tea and breakfast there.

Irfan, tell me something.

Ask me, Hameed Bhai.

Even though you're a Pakistani... I mean, why are you helping me so much?

Don't abuse me, brother.

Abuse? When did I abuse you, Irfan?

"Calling me a Pakistani in the way you did feels like an insult. We aren't the Pakistanis of today's Pakistan. We consider ourselves the real Pakistanis, for whom Pakistan was created. Today, Pakistan is overtaken by the military, clerics, officers, smugglers, bandits, kidnappers, and who knows who else. They are selling our country to the Chinese and other nations and filling their pockets. We want to be free from them, and that's what we're doing.