Calling Sehmat Page 17

  ‘And will I be able to reach where I wish to?’ Sehmat’s voice was barely audible to even herself. She was murmuring, as if talking to herself. The fakir was at complete peace with himself, yet alert, picking up every whisper.

  ‘The Upanishads say, when you are inspired by some great purpose, some extraordinary project, all your thoughts break their bonds, your mind transcends limitations, your consciousness expands in every direction and you find yourself in a new, great and wonderful world. Dominant forces, faculties and talents come alive and you find yourself to be a bigger person than you’d ever dreamed.’ He continued, ‘The knowledge of happiness also brings with it unhappiness. Materialism leads to misery. Therefore we must shed greed and stay simple and contented. This is the law. And this is maya.

  ‘Every child is born with dreams. As he grows he carries this energy of dreams with him. He is so full of youth that it is hard for him to believe that there is such a thing as death, such a thing as defeat or degradation. It’s only when old age comes and starts the decline of the body that he becomes aware of death.

  ‘Our progress, our vanities, our reforms, our luxuries, our wealth, our knowledge have that one end, death. Cities come and go, empires rise and fall, planets break into pieces and crumble into dust. Death is the end of everything. Death is the end of life, beauty, wealth, power and virtue, too. Saints die and so do sinners; kings and beggars are destined to meet the same fate. Everything around us—the stars, the planets, the moon—is moving at a defined pace and is destined to die. And yet there is this tremendous urge to cling to life. Somehow, we find it difficult to give up. And that is maya.’

  ‘Do we choose the time and place of our birth and death? Can we choose our situation?’ Sehmat’s interest in his words was growing deeper. She urged him with her eyes to go on.

  ‘Yes, we know when we have accomplished what we were sent down here to accomplish. We know when the time is up and will accept death when it comes. For you know that you can get nothing more out of this lifetime. When you have had the time to rest and re-energize your soul, you are allowed to choose your re-entry back into the physical state.’

  ‘How do we select the right path?’

  ‘Everybody’s path is basically the same. We must all learn to be charitable, give hope, have faith, share love—follow the path of the lord while we are in our physical state. Some of us are quicker to accept and learn than the others. It’s not just one hope and one faith and one love. Those who follow the path do not seek returns. They know that following the path has its own returns. While the rest of us, more involved in the worldly pleasures, look for rewards and justifications.

  ‘You must eradicate all fears from your mind. Fear is a waste of energy. It stifles you from fulfilling what you were sent here to fulfil. Fear can’t reach your soul. And that is where we must strive to reach.’

  ‘How?’ Sehmat was now in deep meditation, barely murmuring, grabbing every word being uttered by the master soul.

  ‘Have you seen a mountain? It looks calm and solid from the outside but within it contains the volcano, the energy. Humans can only see the outside, but that alone is not the truth. The truth is also the inside, so you need to go much deeper. You have to see the volcano. To be only on the physical plane is not the natural state of being as we all imagine. The most natural state of being is being in a spiritual state.’

  The fakir’s voice was steady, his body in a relaxed frame. Except for his lips, everything else was still, peaceful and serene.

  ‘Is learning faster in the physical state or in the spiritual state? Is there any reason why everyone doesn’t stay in the spiritual state which, as you say, is the natural state of being?’

  ‘People don’t stay in the spiritual state because they are pulled by maya. They think that is the only truth. They don’t realize that what is pulling them is just the physical world which is only an instrument to get to the spiritual state.’

  Sehmat processed the information in her mind. What had happened with her and those connected with her was because of her karma, her actions. They had led her to this state and the solution was to seek spiritual answers. For a few minutes, she stayed absolutely still and calm.

  She knew what she had to do. She began replaying what had happened to her in the past couple of years in her mind. This time she was fearless. When she woke up from her meditation, bright and clear, the fakir was nowhere to be seen.

  The fakir’s prophecy came true yet again: Sehmat inquired about her son the next morning. Exclaiming with joy, Tej ran to the nearest phone and hurriedly called Aby. In her excitement she didn’t notice the panchayat meeting that was taking place not too far from the haveli.

  Liyaqat Ali, the village head, was addressing a gathering of Muslim clerics and village elders assembled under the huge tree outside his house. He stood on the raised ground around the tree that had over the years become a platform for the panchayat leader to address the gathering. ‘This fakir is making our religion look insignificant and irrelevant. Going by his hymns and songs, I am not even sure if he is a Muslim. His growing popularity is an even bigger concern. He perhaps has knowledge of black magic with which he is influencing the masses. I am afraid if we do nothing to stop his antics, he will become a major threat to our people.’

  Ali stopped briefly to see the reaction of his audience, knowing fully well that most of them did not have the courage to oppose him. The clerics were by now shaking their heads in agreement, urging Ali to continue his speech. ‘And then there is this new family of half Hindus that is encouraging this fakir and his disciples. I am telling my son, Salim, and his friends to suitably warn them once, failing which they would be responsible for their own safety.’

  Ali’s threat wasn’t taken lightly by those present. His son was a known goon of the area and feared for the viciousness with which he had eliminated his father’s opponents in the past. Ali also enjoyed excellent relations with the local cops. It was a give and take arrangement, where the cops collected fixed sums every month for turning a blind eye to his son’s illegal activities.

  He jumped down from the platform on a triumphant note and walked up to his son. Holding him by his shoulder, Ali turned him towards the crowd, gently thrusting him forward like a well-earned trophy. ‘I direct my son to take care of things for the benefit of our society, for our religion!’ He then turned towards the clerics sitting in the front row and smiled before walking towards his house.

  An hour later, Salim, together with his handful of toughies, was knocking at the haveli door.

  24

  Mir was holding the receiver and listening attentively to the one-sided conversation. His only contribution was a series of ‘hmm . . .’ that he emitted at regular intervals. From his face, however, it was clear that he was engaged in something very serious. After a long pause and silence on both sides, Mir spoke in a crisp and firm tone before ending the conversation. ‘Get them all. Confirm post-haste.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ came a short reply. Replacing the receiver, he called for his assistant. ‘I want to leave for Maler Kotla right now!’

  The assistant was an old hand. Having worked with Mir for over a decade, he could read his boss’s mind like the back of his hand. He could sense the urgency in Mir’s tone. Maler Kotla was special and he knew why. Nodding, he vanished into the privacy of his cubicle and pressed into action the various instruments kept on his table. He dialled a few numbers and deftly synchronized the events that were to unfold later.

  On behalf of his boss, he summoned officers of varied ranks and profiles. He knew exactly who was needed and at what time. Minutes later, he was back in Mir’s room.

  ‘Sir, the air force will provide you the necessary sortie at two hours’ notice. I have confirmed your departure for 1500 hours, two hours from now.’ Without waiting for his boss to acknowledge the details, the PA continued, ‘Our division heads will receive you at the site. I have asked area police heads to reach the site as well. The Assistant Commissio
ner of Police will be present too. The ACP sounded confused, though, and wanted to know the agenda in advance. A special team is also being dispatched to carry out raids at the designated places.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mir’s reply was short and curt. One could not tell if he was impressed with his PA’s performance or not.

  A few hours later, Mir’s helicopter was hovering over the outskirts of Maler Kotla before landing on the makeshift helipad. Mir came out covering his eyes, protecting them from the dust churned by the rotating blades. As soon as he was clear of the range of the rotor blades, the chopper took off, leaving him and his two deputies in the company of nervous officials. Most in the receiving party had never seen a helicopter land at such close quarters. In awe of Mir’s official status and gripped by an unknown fear, they began trembling in their shoes as soon as they stepped forward to shake hands with him.

  After exchanging pleasantries, Mir sat in a white car fitted with a red beacon on its hood. A pilot jeep was positioned in front with armed guards protecting the motorcade. Led by a screaming siren, the vehicles sped away, leaving behind overwhelmed farmers and a trail of dust.

  Half an hour later, Mir was sitting across from a group of officials who were still clueless about the reason behind his visit. He looked at them carefully, maintaining a stern face. The District Collector (DC), being the most senior in the hierarchy, sat nearest to Mir. He was holding a pen and a bunch of loose paper sheets, like a steno waiting for dictation. All the others sat in front of him, wearing blank expressions and searching each other’s face for clues.

  ‘Are you the area in-charge?’ Mir’s first pointed question took the police official by surprise.

  ‘Yes . . . err, yes, Sir, I am. My name is Sanjay Narula, Sir. I am the ACP.’

  ‘Tell me about Sub-Inspector Munnawar Hussein.’ There was unmistakable anger in Mir’s voice that wasn’t missed by anyone in the room.

  The ACP was dumbstruck and stammered briefly. He wondered what Munnawar had done to shake the Delhi high offices to such an extent. He was also scared deep inside as he too was a recipient of the ill-gotten wealth that the sub-inspector (SI) had amassed.

  ‘Sir, he is an ordinary SI, just does his job and maintains law and order. I have not received any complaints against him. In fact, the villagers seem happy with him and have generally shown satisfaction with his day-to-day functioning.’

  ‘Have you ever interacted with the villagers personally?’

  The ACP was taken aback again. He was now certain that Munnawar was involved in something serious that could put his career in jeopardy. His sixth sense told him to stick to bare facts and somehow save his own skin.

  ‘No, Sir, I have not. But I do regularly check the records. And it shows that the crime graph has not risen.’

  ‘How will the crime graph rise when there aren’t any records? No registers, no logbooks, nothing whatsoever?’

  ‘Sir, I . . . err, I mean, Sir, I . . . will err check . . . and revert, Sir.’

  ‘Check what, when? You may wait outside. I’ll call for you shortly,’ Mir said curtly. His eyes were bristling with anger, as he dismissed the ACP from the room.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said the ACP as he hurriedly stood up and saluted before making an exit. He was perplexed and wished to speak to Munnawar urgently to ascertain the facts and prepare his own defence.

  Pacing up and down the corridor, he was still brainstorming when he noticed all the officials emerging from the room in quick succession. Only the DC remained inside with Mir. The two spent another ten minutes together before emerging. They headed straight to their respective cars. Mir did not even bother to look at the ACP. The waiting officials also rushed to their respective vehicles. The DC positioned his car behind the pilot jeep, leading the motorcade towards Maler Kotla. Sitting alone in his car and holding a walkie-talkie over his ears, he continued to pass orders till the motorcade stopped outside the police chowki of Maler Kotla.

  The chowki was in a shambles and looked like an old stable. There were two cows and three buffaloes inside the compound, merrily grazing on the wild grass and hay. The board outside the chowki was hanging upside down. Dozens of rusted bicycles were lying to the left of the gate, piled on top of each other in a small mountain of collected junk. A few cots lay haphazardly under a large tree surrounded by heaps of dry leaves. From the look of it, one could not be sure if there was anyone inside the police chowki.

  The scene inside was no better. Sub-Inspector Munnawar Hussein was in a state of deep slumber, unaware of the trouble he was about to get into. An empty liquor bottle lay in front of him. His eyes were half shut, his mouth partially open, the sound of snores filtering through his betel-stained lips. His shirt was open, hanging loosely on both sides of his naked belly that moved up and down with his loud snores. His shoes lay upside down nearby. The table was stacked with numerous files. Like a heavy paperweight, his feet were resting on top of them.

  The constable on duty was in no state to raise an alarm either. Having polished his share of the local brew, he too was fast asleep with his head resting squarely on the attendance register. An empty glass and a broken bottle were lying on the floor, with pieces of glass scattered beneath the table. His trousers were wet with splotches of liquor. His belt was unhooked and hanging aimlessly, swaying like a pendulum in sync with the movement of his pot belly.

  Mir entered first, followed by the rest of the officials. The ACP was the last to step in and desperately muttered curses on Munnawar Hussein. His fate was sealed and he knew it well. Files, dirty teacups and utensils were scattered all across the room which wore a dilapidated look. There were cobwebs on every wall. The lock-up rooms were ajar, and dirty linen hung haphazardly on a thin wire. There were no sentries in sight but the board on the wall displayed an ‘on duty: 6’ sign.

  Mir glanced around and reached for the attendance register that was lying on the constable’s table. The thick book was doubling as the constable’s pillow. His head went up as Mir pulled the notebook out and slammed it on the table. The wooden table emitted a loud thud but that failed to wake up the constable. Mir flipped through the register, then turned towards the ACP and flung the book at him. The ACP had to dive to catch the thick, fluttering register. Holding it in his hand, he glanced at the blank pages. There were no entries in the book for over a month. He faced Mir sheepishly, not knowing where to look. ‘I am sorry, Sir . . .’ was all that he could manage.

  ‘Sorry for what? For filling your own coffers with the help of this character or for abetting crime and terrorizing people in the name of law? Take these jokers into custody and have this post suitably manned. Take pictures of this police station in this condition and make a detailed report of all this. Send it to your headquarters first thing tomorrow morning, with a copy to the DC,’ thundered Mir, sending shivers down the ACP’s spine.

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ came the meek reply. Like a frozen fish, the ACP continued to stare at the register. The pages were blank but he could clearly imagine his own suspension order written on it in bold ink. Mir stepped out of the chowki on hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle. An officer in plain clothes jumped out of the car and stood to attention in front of him.

  ‘Sir, all have been arrested, including the father and the son. They have been taken for interrogation. The raid has also resulted in the recovery of illicit liquor, arms and munitions. The haveli has been damaged from inside and is in a bad shape. Mrs Tej is wounded, but her condition is stable. She has been admitted to the hospital and is receiving medical attention. Mrs Sehmat Khan had a miraculous escape. She is with her mother right now.’ After delivering his statement like a well-rehearsed dialogue, the official waited for Mir’s response.

  Mir heaved a momentary sigh of relief on hearing about Sehmat’s well-being. ‘What about Mrs Tej? How serious is she?’

  ‘Sir, the doctors are examining her. There’s no serious injury but she may need to be shifted to a better hospital for special care.’

  ‘And h
ow has Sehmat taken it? Is she doing well? How did she escape the attack?’ Mir’s angry, tense face was beginning to relax a bit.

  The official continued, ‘It was a miracle, Sir. I hear that a god-man also reached the spot with his followers at almost the same time and confronted the attackers inside the haveli. While Mrs Tej Khan stood at the staircase, letting the attackers damage the property at will, this god-man stood firmly between Mrs Sehmat Khan and the attackers and did not let them climb to the first floor where she was resting. I understand that she was meditating behind closed doors. Amazingly, she did not even hear the commotion and appeared calm on learning about the damage caused by the goons. In fact, she is practically in-charge at the hospital and is even directing the doctors and nurses. She’s in high spirits and in full control.’

  ‘Thanks. Please take us to the hospital.’ Mir was now sounding relaxed. His face had a look of relief and happiness.

  The official jumped on to the front seat and did as he was told. Mir sat behind and the motorcade again sped to its new destination, leaving behind a crowd of spectators who had gathered outside the police station. Their faces lit up with joy on seeing a handcuffed Munnawar Hussein and his deputy getting shoved into the waiting van. The villagers kept standing there even after the dust generated by the speeding cars had settled. The truth of Munnawar Hussein’s arrest was taking time to sink in.

  An old man watched the proceedings from a distance. There was pain in his eyes. He had repeatedly failed to lodge a complaint against Liyaqat Ali and his son, even as the two goons had forcibly occupied his small piece of land and mercilessly beaten up his wife and son. It was as if Munnawar’s arrest had given him a new lease of life. He kept his walking stick aside and began to clap. His weak hands could barely meet, but his face did enough to electrify the atmosphere.

  Soon the spectators joined in and began applauding in unison. As if waiting for an opportune moment, the clouds too burst open. By now, the villagers had gathered in large numbers. The applause turned into a roar and the roar into an impromptu dance. Their tears merged with the raindrops that fell rapidly on their faces. The sound of thunder could do little to match their spirited cheering. They were crying with joy and relief at the same time. The rain dance continued, encouraging hundreds of feet to jump in ecstasy and splash the water that was falling straight from the heavens. There was just one person who looked sad and depressed. Holding his head in shame, the ACP walked past the dancing crowd and melted into the distance.