Pay Back

I was 12 years old and admitted to a boarding facility in Murree. We belonged to Lahore and lived in a posh area. My father had an export business and usually stayed abroad. He would spend very less time at home and therefore sent me to a strict educational institution to keep me disciplined. I hated him for one day only.

It was a cold Sunday morning of the month of March when I was dropped by my parents in the boarding school. We had started travelling at night and reached the school at 9 am. We were served with hot breakfast in the dining hall and it was not long before my father announced to leave as he had to catch a flight at night. I started crying and did not let my mother go. My younger sister who was only 10 also held me tight. Seeing our hue and cry, my father promised me that he will come back after three months to take me home for summer vacations and then it will be totally up to me whether I return to this place or not. It made some sense so I let my family depart with a heavy heart.

My first day at the boarding school was tedious. We spent a busy evening. We were briefed about the life in school, dos and don’ts and how our next five years will revolve around a whistle. At lunch and dinner, we were served with food which I had never tasted before. I made up my mind that I will not return here after the summer break. I had already started my count down.

It was only 10 pm of our first night that we were tucked in our beds and lights were switched off. I was drying my tears and trying to sleep when an orderly shook my shoulder and told me that warden has asked for me. I was surprised but somehow got out of the bed, searched my sleepers in darkness and followed the messenger. The first thing I saw in the warden’s office from outside the window was uncle Yousaf who was my father’s step brother. I had never liked him. He was always mean to us. But he was our only family member in the city so we often got to see him on special occasions.

I entered into warden’s office which was adjacent to our dormitory. I shook hands with uncle Yousaf and looked inquisitively at the warden. Our warden Sir Amir was a middle aged man with a fatherly smile and loving eyes. He told me to sit. Then very softly he said that I will be going back to my home with uncle Yousaf. I inquired ‘right now?’ and he said ‘yes.’ My next question was ‘why?’ and then uncle Yousaf spoke, ‘your parents met an accident while going back from Murree and I have come here to take you home.’ I suddenly got pleased and only asked ‘can I get my bag?’

Warden told the orderly who was still standing in the office to go with me and help me pack.  It never crossed my mind, not for a second that the accident could be serious or my parents could not be alive. I did not even ask uncle Yousaf as to what was condition of my parents. I was only happy that on the very first day I was getting out of this hell.        

My journey back home after a day’s long excursion at Murree was least adventurous. It was dark outside and I kept sleeping throughout the ride. The next day however changed my life forever. I was left alone in the whole wild world. My parents and my little sister had not survived the accident. I did not have any grandparents alive and most of our relatives lived in India and had not migrated to Pakistan after independence. I was virtually broken. There was no one to comfort me or hold me or even tell me that everything will be alright. I was only 12 years old and my soul had shattered into million pieces. The worst part however was yet to come.

Family court declared uncle Yousaf as my guardian and caretaker of all the assets. After taking possession of everything, uncle Yousaf sent me back to the same boarding school. I was given some pocket money and was told that three months fee of the school has been deposited so I need not to worry about the finances. After becoming my guardian, uncle Yousaf shifted to my home. He told me that I can come back to this house during vacations. Uncle Yousaf’s driver drove me back to Murree. This time I did not protest. I quietly joined back the school.

Three months passed in a jiffy and it was time for summer break. I had received couple of calls from uncle Yousaf in the first month but then there was no contact. Before the start of vacations, Sir Amir asked me about my plan. I told him that I will go to my home and will come back to school after the break, for sure.

School had made transport arrangements till Rawalpindi for all the boarders who were not being picked up by their relatives. School bus dropped few students at airport and many at railway station. It then dropped me along with couple of my class fellows and few seniors at an intercity bus terminal. School administration had already got us tickets so we waited for our buses. My bus left the terminal at 6 pm and reached Lahore at 11. A senior who had accompanied me from Rawalpindi and had to catch another bus to his city got me a cab and gave the driver address of my home in model town. The driver looked at me suspiciously but the senior told him in a firm tone to take me straight to this address.

It was almost mid night when I rang the bell of my home. I was expecting Fazal chacha to open the gate. Fazal chacha was working for us since before my birth. He was an old man who was our chowkidar cum gardener and always stayed the night at our home. I did not know much about him or his family but I had never seen him being absent at night from the main gate. I rang the bell again.

To my utter surprise, small door in the gate finally got opened by an unfamiliar face. The person who appeared asked me very annoyingly in Pushto accent as to what do I want. I said it is my home and I tried to enter through the gate. The stranger blocked me from entering with his arm and said loudly ‘who the hell are you?’ I got frustrated and asked him ‘where is Fazal chacha?’ He said he does not know any Fazal chacha and that he bought this house about two months back from some Yousaf Jamal. He further told me to leave or else he will call the police. He then disappeared inside the house shutting the door with a loud bang.

I was stunned and in deep shock. Twelve years old, past mid night, stranded on the road alone, I turned back and found my cab driver standing nearby and staring at me. I had nowhere else to go. Mobile phones had been invented but were not very common in those days. I did not know address of anyone else too. The only place I thought at that moment was my school. I asked the cab driver to take me back to bus terminal. While sitting in the cab, I could not control my anger, helplessness and fear. Tears started pouring out of my eyes. The cabby started consoling me and passed me back a juice pack to drink. I took couple of sips of the free juice and the last thing I remember was the cab stopping at the gate of a small house.

I woke up on a hospital bed having excruciating pain in my abdomen. There was a drip attached to my arm which had already dried up. I looked around and found almost one dozen beds with as many patients and double the attendants in the room. There was no sign of any nurse in near vicinity. Listening to my groans, a female attendant of my neighboring patient came to my bed. She put her hand on my forehead and out of nowhere my eyes went numb. She asked me softly ‘do you need anything son?’ Without waiting for reply of her first question, she asked again ‘where are your parents?’                                

Instead of answering to her, I asked a series of my own questions ‘where am I, what is this place, what happened to me?’ She did not reply and rather went and called the nurse. What I learnt from nurse sent me back to the state of unconsciousness. The duty nurse told me that I was found at the hospital gate two days ago and that my right kidney had been surgically removed. The hospital staff also informed the police and after sometime a policeman appeared and incriminated me with selling my kidney. He continuously asked for the name of person to whom I sold my kidney and where was I operated upon. I had answers to none of his questions.

Hospital kept me admitted for one more day. After the police lost interest in me, they threw me back at the place from where I was found. I cannot explain the amount of physical pain I went through before I was picked up by one person Majeed who used me for begging. He put me on a cart and kept dragging me on roads. My wound had not yet healed. To lessen the pain, Majeed kept me heavily sedated. Soon I recovered from the surgery but I had become a drug addict.

I once came with Majeed to Lahore to check about uncle Yousaf. I learnt that he sold everything I owned and has shifted to some unknown place. We stayed in Lahore for few days and exhausted all our savings. As the luck would have it, I was caught with Majeed stealing from a shop at night. We had also knocked out the chowkidar but were caught red handed by a police mobile. I wasn’t accorded juvenile status due to gravity of crime and sentenced to 15 years in prison.

I was still 12 years old. In last six months, I lost my whole family and my uncle had defrauded me. My kidney was stolen, I had become a drug addict and was now undergoing a sentence of 15 years for attempted murder and stealing. Was there anything else that can go wrong?

Prison is not a good place. I was violated physically and tortured psychologically innumerable times till I committed my first murder by slitting throat of the big boss in prison while he was sleeping. I was then 14 years old. Every prisoner recognized my cold-bloodedness and brutality. No one gave evidence against me and nobody bothered me again.               

I completed my sentence and came out of the prison with only one purpose in mind. Pay back.

I visited sir Amir in the boarding school. To my good luck, he still worked there. I narrated him my story. He got so empathetic that he offered for anything he could do. I told him that I needed my father’s CNIC number from school record. Sir Amir took just one day to provide me the same. I then contacted a friend in NADRA and acquired my father’s family tree. From the family tree, I got the CNIC number of Yousaf Jamal and then from his CNIC number I found a mobile number listed in his name. Getting the current location of that mobile number was not a difficult task.

I still remember the look at uncle Yousaf's face when I told him about me. He fell in my feet for forgiveness. I did not let him rise again. 

I am now back in Lahore looking for a particular taxi driver.

Written By: Nadeem Alam

Published in the Mag Weekly - 8 Sep 2018 : Part 1

Part 2

Other short stories by same author:
Click 👇
Cinderella
Right Decision
The Missing Bride
Twins
The Devil
Lost Girl 
Shadow

My World