Beating all logic

Two Graves

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

Four miles out of Karachi, on the sea shore, there is a small isle; it is famous as “the isle of two graves”. There are just two graves on this little isle. These two graves are twenty paces apart. The weird part is this that there is nothing else on this isle. Leave alone men or animal, there is neither any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle. This is unfortunate. After years of investigation it still remains a mystery and no one knows how these two graves got to be there; and if they did not get there than who made them there. And if they were made there, where did the makers disappear. This has remained a mystery as I have not yet opened up my mouth to tell the truth. Today, I disclose the mystery as today no one can stop me; my wife is gone to her relatives today.

Three or four years back, when I was still in my in the detective department, the murderer was running away after murdering someone and I was following him. Suddenly, the murderer slipped into a house and disappeared, leaving me in a confusion. But then, I also slipped into another house. The house in which the murderer went was his own and the house in which I went was someone else’s. I showed my badge and was given tea, “How long would you hide?” I thought in a low voice in my mind so that the murderer could not hear me. He did not hear. After hiding in his house for a week, when he came out, I followed him with a loaded revolver in my possession.

The murderer bought a newspaper from a stall; I bought a newspaper from another stall because if I had bought one from the same stall, the murderer would have understood that I was following him. I had not wasted my time in the department. The murderer started whistling lightly and went towards Shahi Bazar. Exactly twenty paces behind, I started following him whistling lightly. He bought or brought a pair of socks and some handkerchiefs from a shop. I was twenty paces behind and therefore am not sure whether he bought these or brought these. From Shahi Bazar, he moved through Qila and went on to the Station Road. I don’t understand why the department trains us to stay twenty paces behind. Because of this training I could not buy the socks or the handkerchiefs for myself. On the station, the murderer bought an Inter class ticket and sat in it. I did the same but sat twenty seats behind him, however, I found myself in the next coupe as the first one had only sixteen seats. Train started to move and my heart started to beat faster. This was the first time that I was following a murderer who had killed ten people. He was alone and so was I. I touched the revolver in my pocket and warm blood rushed through my whole body. Even the revolver in my pocket felt warm now.

Till we reached Karachi, the murderer kept sitting in his seat and I kept sitting in mine. If I had gotten down and the train had moved away, who would have captured the murderer - dead or alive? He had a twenty thousand rupees reward on his head. I perspired at the thought. 

The murderer got down at the Saddar Station and started walking on the pavement towards Kaimari. This was his mistake. If he had gotten down at the City Station, Kaimari would have been nearer.

{Let me share with you that when this murderer killed ten people, he telephoned our chief and laughed an evil loud laugh, saying, “ You and your department cannot do anything about me and I intend to murder eleven people.” That is when my chief called me and said, “Police and the detective department does not have a quicker and braver officer than you, what do you say?” I said, “Yes” and that was my mistake. Now I was missing my children. I won’t say I was missing my wife, as within our clan it is inappropriate to speak about ones wife.}

While walking, the murderer turned towards Jhuna Market. I stayed twenty paces behind him but turned in the same direction, hitting a wall, headlong. I rushed towards the murderer and caught up with him. This was his cleverness as he may have guessed that I was following him. He ate in a hotel, but I stayed outside as the hotel did not have twenty seats. I don’t know what he ate. Meanwhile, it turned pitch dark. In this pitch dark of night, where a hand cannot see a moustache, on a deserted road, I followed the footsteps of the murderer; exactly twenty paces behind him. 

Suddenly I thought of something and shivered from head to toe. What if the murderer was intentionally walking twenty paces ahead of me in this pitch dark night, in which a hand could not see a moustache? I started to sweat. The sweat ran down the nape of my neck. I took out a handkerchief and wiped the swept off my neck. I put my hand in my pocket and curled my fingers around the revolver. Allah above me and this revolver on the earth were my only two guardians. 

Now I was not worried at all. I kept walking. Suddenly everything went quiet. Very quiet! Where did the sound go? I panicked. Where did the murderer’s footsteps go? I got totally confused. I started shivering. In my confusion, I held the revolver and forced myself to look in the dark. Suddenly there was a spark, so I lied down flat on my stomach. This strategy of lying down with the spark is also taught by our department so that a bullet should not hit us on our mouth or on our body. A standing man is an easy target. Now I watched with concentration and saw that the murderer was standing and the spark was from a lighter that he used to light a cigarette. That is exactly why his footsteps could not be heard anymore and so I got up. If instead of holding the revolver and forcing my mind, I had forced the revolver and held my mind, this tale would have been told by the murderer instead of me. Allah is Kind and Merciful. I lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply.  

At Netty Jetty, the murderer bought a small boat and rowed it towards the open sea. At first I just kept staring, but later, I also bought a small boat and started following him. My heart was beating very fast as it was really difficult to stay twenty paces behind, because to measure the paces in the water, I would have had to get down in the water, and I would have drowned. I strengthened my heart. At our department we are always ready to die, but at a distance of twenty paces only.

We entered wide open sea and the murderer’s boat started to bob up and down in it. When my boat came twenty paces behind his, it also started to bob up and down in the rough sea. I did not lose heart. In our department, special emphasize is given on not losing heart. Out of nowhere there appeared ground before us. The murderer tied his boat on the beach, lighted a cigarette and kept starring at me. I pretended not to notice him and getting off my boat at exactly twenty paces away from him, I turned my face the other way and started whistling. I did this because I did not want him to know that I was following him. This trick was also taught to us at our department. 

Slowly the murderer started approaching me. My back was toward him, but we detectives have sharp ears. I kept whistling and started walking away from the murderer. The murderer fastened his pace and so did I. Suddenly he started running, so I also did the same. How could he be allowed to reach me? Our chief had instructed us to stay twenty paces behind the culprit at all times. While running, for a moment I thought that as per rule, he should be in front and I should be following him. But this was not a time to argue with the murderer.

I kept running and made a complete round of the isle. Now I realized that the murderer had not an inch since he got off the boat. He was standing at the same spot where I had last seen him. My confusion that he was chasing me was my imagination. So I lit up another cigarette and turned my back towards him. I heard him move towards me. This was my illusory imagination. We have been trained about such illusory imaginations at the department, so that we don’t fall victim to it. 

Suddenly, the murderer stabbed an inch and a half wide knife in my back and kept pushing it into my back till it could enter no more. Then he took it out and stabbed me repeatedly. This was not an illusion or imagination. I shouted a loud cry and died immediately. This was the murderer’s eleventh murder.

The murderer dug a deep grave and buried me in it. He covered me with a big load of mud and made a proper grave mound out of it and said appropriate prayers for me. Afterwards, he sat on my grave and had had a cigarette.

This was a golden opportunity for me, and our department's chief had instructed us that never let a golden opportunity go to waste. I sneaked out of my grave, put the nozzle of my revolver on the back of his nape and fired six shots, one after the other. His last words were. “I would get even with you and your chief.” I dug another grave at exactly twenty paces away from my own grave, buried the murderer, entered my own grave and went back to an eternal sleep.

This is the mystery of the two graves that are at a distance of twenty paces from one another and are at the isle where no men or animal live; neither is there any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle.

PS: This is a hilariously illogical story and a true reflection of Abdul Haleem Brohi's humourous side. 

Another very short story

A New Grave

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

There was a sharp turn on the road. I glanced over the meter. The car was going at about the speed of 80 km per hr. I looked ahead and suddenly saw two huge, bright lights approaching at a fast speed. Within a moment, these two lights ran over me and entered my eyes and my car’s engine, pushing the steering wheel towards me, was all over me. My thoughts slipped. But then … I got out of the car and stood by it. It was a huge truck which had crushed the car and had pushed the remains of it, off the edge of the road.

Next, the people started gathering and shouting. And I started to move back. When I reached my mother’s grave, I realized that it was a miracle to stay alive after such a horrible accident. And then I saw my mother. She was standing near a new grave and was looking at me. This grave was not there before. My mother started smiling and I understood that this new grave was mine. 

PS. I was taught logic by Abdul Haleem Brohi as he was a master of Aristotle's work. But he defied it completely in his own work. 

A very short story

My Place

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

After I bought the land, to build a house, I had no money; and so I thought that my death is distant. Later, I got some money and decided to build the house, and so I thought, now my death is approaching.

When the land was dug for laying the foundation of the house, I started feeling as if my grave is being dug. Then the foundation was laid and the walls started going up.

I have always believed that when a person nears his death, he starts making a place for him to live in, and he dies when his place is ready. I have a thousand such examples and I myself…

The roof was laid and the walls were plastered. Then, the floor was also laid, and the windows and doors were in place. So, after the place was ready, a big get-together was arranged in which my wife started crying while taking the guests around the house. And then, my children also started to cry and so did the guests. No one spoke with me, no one welcomed me. And then I remembered that when a place is ready, the owner dies, and now my place was ready.  

PS: Abdul Haleem Brohi believed in this and gave us many examples of such incidents. He built his own place in the Citizen's Society, opposite Rajputana Hospital, but he did not have enough money to finish the work. Though he lived there for some years, he was never happy there. He sold it at the earliest chance he got.

Subedaree

Subedaree

Written by

Abdul Haleem Brohi

The habits of us Sindhi Subedar would take us straight to heaven. One habit is this that whichever Subedar has a railway station in his jurisdiction, at the time of trains arrival he would stand firmly in front of the ladies compartment and stare at that compartment nonstop; twirling his moustache. He would only let go of the sight of ladies compartment and leave his moustache alone, after the train starts to vanish from his sight. And the other habit is this that the Subedar who does not have a railway station in his jurisdiction would sit outside his police station after sunset, on a chair, and stare at the women who walk by. He would ask his special sycophant Sepoy, “Who is she?”, “Who was she?”

There is no railway station in the jurisdiction of Hyderabad’s Cantonment police station. So, I was sitting on a chair, facing the front alley, staring in the space. That is when I noticed that from that alley the Bohri boy was coming out; the one who was a bicycle thief and who had managed to upset the whole of Saddar by his robberies. This Bohri boy was around twenty to twenty-two years of age and the whole of Saddar knew that this boy steals the bicycles and sells them. He was never imprisoned as he was never caught with the loot. Seeing him coming, I started thinking about his slyness and my helplessness. Everyone knew that he steals bicycles from Saddar but he was such a bastard that he would always walk in front of the police station, give me a smile, wish me salaam and move on. So seeing him coming from that distance, I reflected on his shrewdness and my inability to do anything about it.

Those meherbaan readers, who have seen Cantonment police station, must have also seen Meherbaan Hotel; just opposite the police station slightly ahead. This Meherbaan Hotel belonged to an Iranian named Sheherzad who was in a habit of saying ‘meherbaan’. His speech mostly comprised “Yes meherbaan”, “No meherbaan”. While taking bill, he would say “Meherbaan, here are your two rupees change.” “Salaam meherbaan, take money meherbaan.” This earned him a new name of Sheherzad Meherbaan and his cafe that was initially Café Britannia acquired the new name of Meherbaan Hotel. Finally the meherbaan owner changed the name of the cafe to Meherbaan Hotel. But I am speaking of the days when the cafe was still called Café Britannia and the students from Kaaree Moree College used to leave their bicycles outside the hotel and sit inside to have tea and chat with one another. The main door of the hotel is on the Saddar Bazaar Road but two smaller ones are on the road on which the police station is.

While seeing that boy in the alley approaching me, I reflected on his shrewdness and my helplessness, but then suddenly, I caught sight of the two side doors of the Meherbaan Hotel on my side of the road.  Resting against these doors were from four to six bicycles of the college students who were used to having tea there and were mostly sons of high ranking officers.

As an abrupt urge to pee, came an urgent and abrupt thought to my mind. I saw that the Bohri boy was still a little distance away in the alley and was strolling casually and slowly towards where I was sitting. From this alley, one cannot see the doors of the Meherbaan Hotel. But after three to four minutes, when the boy would have come out of the alley, after wishing me salaam he would have turned toward the hotels doors and passed close to the students’ bicycles. I immediately signaled a Sepoy to come closer and told him to sneak up to the hotel and bring one bicycle in such a way that no one sitting inside the hotel should know. That Sepoy walked his normal pace towards the hotel and grabbed one Relay bicycle by the handle and turned casually, bringing the bicycle to me without students noticing anything. Meanwhile, that Bohri boy came out of the alley, wished me salaam and walked on, but I called him, “come here”. Bohro smiled and came to my side, and at the same moment that Sepoy came to me holding the bicycle by its handle. I pointed towards the bicycle and told the Bohri to take that bicycle and fly over to Heerabad and get me a carton of cigarettes from a particular shop and get back in two minutes.  Bohro said, “Yes sir.” Swung his leg over the bicycle and peddled it fast towards his destination but as soon as he reached the doors of Meherbaan Hotel, from where the bicycle was taken, my Sepoy started shouting, “Catch him, catch him, he is taking a bicycle away.” Sepoy ran to the place, but before him the college students sitting in the hotel were all out. Suddenly, one of them cried, “Oh, this is my bike!” Bohri boy got so confused that he started babbling, “I was going to get cigarettes for Subedar Sahib.”  But the students’ slaps and punches had his face swollen.

And then, there was the judicial enquiry and there were about four or five college students, who were the children of the respectable and high ranking officers’, and were the eye witnesses as they had seen the defendant with the stolen bicycle and caught him themselves.  So, that Bohri boy was sent to the prison for full three years' term and I sat every evening in front of the police station and kept to my routine of eyeing women who passed my way and asking my sycophant Sepoys “Who is she?”, “Who was she?”.

PS. This story could very well be true as Abdul Haleem Brohi grew up visiting Thanna's and in company of Subedars and Sepoys because of his father's job. Cantonment Thaana was very close to where he lived all his life and such anecdotes were often shared on the dinning table.