Category : Stories

Sub Category : Childrens

The dark blue sedan pulled over in front of the tobacco shop. A tall man, dressed in all black, stepped out of it and lit a cigarette. Almost twenty yards away, young Hassan, washing dishes, was watching him. He could see nothing but a tall figure blowing smoke but he knew that it was a Dunhill. Hassan glanced at the wall clock, it struck 11 pm. The man in black always visited the tobacco shop across the street from the restaurant where Hassan used to work, at the exact time. It had become a ritual; the man visited the place at night, dressed in all black and smoked, standing still with the car door ajar, at least three cigarettes and then drifted away on the road.
 The water kept flowing and flowing as Hassan was too busy gazing at the figure across the street. He could never figure out whether he loathed him, envied him, or even idolized him. One thing he was sure of that he and the man were exactly the opposites. The man drove a sedan, he used the bus, and the man smoked Dunhill while he went for the cheapest pack in the market. He would often contemplate on the differences between their lives.
“I have worked all my life,” he cursed himself in his head, “What should he know about making a living. ”
He mumbled these sentences to make himself feel better. All in vain, he was aware that he was no more than lint or a bottle cap; something which could be dumped with no remorse. 
“It is half past eleven, you idiot,” his boss slapped him hard on the back.
When Hassan flung back into the reality, the man was gone and the pile of dirty dishes lay before him which he started washing . After work, he bought some smokes and caught the last bus to home; a camp beside the railroad. Hassan had spent eight of his fifteen years working. He did not know his parents nor had he any family. As long as he could remember, he was working. Institutions that were supposed to take care of him had done nothing but made him work. Then one day he realized that if he had to work then why not work on his own.He had started from the road and ended in the kitchen of a petty restaurant. A job which put food on his table and smokes in the pocket; the only luxury he could afford.
Hassan’s place was not far away from the sea-shore. He sometimes used to walk home on foot and often he found the man standing on the sand. The same tall figure smoking Dunhill and staring at the black ocean. 
“The glasses,” he mumbled as he left the bus. Who wears sunglasses at night ? , the thought poked his mind. Black! Perhaps he loved the colour. What if he was an agent? He had seen people in movies acting strangely in total black clothes. The fact was that he thought the man to be everything he, himself, could never be. He flung away all the thoughts and lit a cigarette to calm the nerves but as the nicotine hit his brain, they all came back and hit him as hard as ever.
He threw the butt of his cigarette and started thinking about the man but before he could know; he was drowned in the valley of dreams. That night he dreamt of that man. He dreamt that the man was washing dishes at the restaurant and far away, Hassan pulled over a dark blue sedan and smoked Dunhill over and over; laughing hysterically at the that man.
“Hassan! Hassan!.”
He felt as if some invisible hands waggled him back and forth.
“Hassan! Hassan!” 
He heard the voices again from nowhere. He opened his eyes and saw his best friend Amjad, who was never called by his name but Lalloo, was staring at him.
“You idiot,” Hassan cried out loudly.
 Then he looked out, the sun had not completely out, he shouted, “Lalloo you fool, it is your time to get up not mine, let me sleep some more.”
The one thing he love the most was his sleep. If only he could get paid for his slumber he would have slept all day and all night. With all the hard work he did, he still had his mornings to sleep for. That day Lalloo had snatched that one thing from him.
“Hassan, it is not me that is being foolish but you. Do you not remember asking me for a job at Barey Sahab’s Place?” Lalloo shouted. 
 Lalloo had been working at the city’s wealthiest landlord Barey Sahab’s bungalow for a long time so Hassan had asked him to get something done for him about a month ago and here he was.
“So I shall get the job then?” Hassan cheered.
“If you get your sleepy head out of this dirt and come with me right now,’ Lalloo said lowering his voice while Hassan rapidly washed himself up and put on the best Kurta Shalwar he had; which he had saved for such an occasion.
“How do I look?” Hassan posed in his new outfit.
“Dumb,” Lallo replied and dragged Hassan
Barey Sahab was the richest landlord in the town. Every single person in the town knew for a fact that Barey Sahab was involved in Arms, Prostitution, Racketeering and what not but they knew as well that his brother was the chief of police so they were not allowed to even talk about it. Although Hassan had never met Barey Sahab—in fact, the only handful of people in town had seen him in person — he was glad that he was no more in this world. After his death, which was a sort of happy news for the people of the town, all of his assets passed on to his only son, Chote Sahab.
“Lallo! Tell me about Chote Sahab. Is he a tyrant like, his father?” Hassan tried to keep up with the quick pace of Lallo.
“Not exactly, he treats us like servants, not slaves as his father used to do but do not take him as a saint. Do as he says and ask about nothing and nothing at all,’ Lallo pointed his finger towards Hassan with a grave face and said, “It was he, who used to clean up his father’s mess.”
Hassan began thinking about his habit of questioning everything. It was always difficult for him not to question every single order. He was staring at the road while thinking when Lalloo cried that they had arrived at their destination. Hassan slowly raised his glance and when he, for the first time, set his eyes upon the haveli, his jaw dropped down and eyes widened across. Although Hassan had visited the posh area of the city many a times, he had never seen something like this Haveli.
Before, his eyes extended two large walls with metal bushes on the top. Adjoining the two walls was a great metal gate guarded by two large men. They were armed with AK-47 and two large moustaches. One of them grabbed Lalloo by his cheeks and shook him a bit. Then he laughed loudly and opened the gate for them. Lalloo was laughing too but Hassan noticed that his cheeks had become quite red. He intended to question Lalloo about it but no sooner had he passed through the gate that he went into an ecstatic state. There was a wide concrete road leading to the building. On every side of the road, there was grass as far as one's eye could reach. Similar bodyguards were roaming here and there, twisting their moustaches.
“Tell me Lalloo. Is Chote Sahab the sole owner of all this?” Hassan was in a trance.
“All of it! And most of the shops near your place are his as well,” Lalloo replied with an air of vanity. It seemed as if he were the owner.
There were a dozen cars lined up neatly, just before the main building. Hassan went on and touched every car. Then he put his cheek against one of it and closed his eyes.
“God damn it Hassan! Do not act like that. You want this job or not?”
“Yes,” he replied with his eyes still closed.
“Straighten up! Here comes the boss,” Lallo shook him.
Hassan opened his eyes and glanced towards the main gate. Suddenly, his body froze and eyes stopped blinking. His heartbeat started pacing faster and faster. The same dark blue sedan was pulling over. The door of the sedan opened slowly and stepped out the Man. Hassan looked at him bewildered, he could see his own face in his sunglasses. It had drained out of the colour.
“ Chote Sahab,” Lalloo approached him, “This is my friend Hassan. He wants to work for you. He could replace Munna.”
“Where is Munna?” the Man's voice was hoarse and stern.
“He left for his village, Chote Sahab. “
“I see, so will you work for me?” The Man took off his glasses and came close to Hassan. His eyes were as red as a ripe tomato. Hassan looked into his eyes and the words seemed to choke in his throat.
“You brought a dumb friend huh?” The Man turned towards Lalloo, but before he could say anything, a weak ‘I—will’ left Hassan's lips.
“Well, all is settled then. Go to work kiddo!” He patted Hassan and raced towards the building.
“What were you thinking? You silly boy,” Lalloo burst upon him.
“His eyes?” Hassan whispered.
“Oh, that is nothing. It is just that he is not able to sleep at nights, just like his father. All the doctors and pills never worked on his father and neither do they on him. So he drifts at nights while we have fun here,” Lallo winked, “Come on, I shall show you your room.”
But Hassan couldn’t move an inch — He had found his lifelong treasure, his slumber.