It all happened three years ago, not quite a long period, but to me it seems like it happened, perhaps, an hour ago. I seem to be stuck in a moment I can’t get out of, as says the song. I had just graduated that means completion of education for most of the students in Pakistan, and was looking for a job.

At university I was what most people would term as, a “book worm”. Always depressed, agitated, afraid of what would happen in the exams, afraid of not getting good marks if I don’t study hard enough. Even when my friends dragged me to concerts, instead of enjoying the event, I bothered myself with upcoming presentations or surprise quizzes. Pathetically enough, I never had had excellent grades, but graduate I did.

I had to wait for a mere two weeks to find a decent job. Being totally unoccupied during these two weeks, I, for the first time, started to look upon things in new perspectives; free from the burden of studies and exams. There lived this Pathan family in our neighbourhood. The eldest son was three years younger to me but while I had completed sixteen years of education he was still stuck in the first year of Intermediate education. They had plenty of money and quite a few of the family had already settled in the USA. This guy, Mohsin, his name was, had the life time ambition to go to the USA. Not that, that was a problem for his parents, they only feared that Mohsin, quite thoroughly spoilt while being in Pakistan, would wreck havoc with himself in the USA, where presumably there would be no checks o him. “Baita, who Amreeka jaa kur kharab ho jayay ga.” Auntie used to say to me, whenever Mohsin or his future prospects came under discussion.

During these two weeks, as both of us had nothing to do, we spent quite a lot of time together and although he kept suffixing me with a ‘bhai’ all the time, we became extremely frank and candid in our conversations. I got the job, a multinational company, excellent pay, excellent working conditions and work hours and most of all, not very far from my home. I had my own money now; mine to spend, on whatever I liked. So first of all I got myself a car leased. I had studied in a university that was not situated in my home town; as a result, I didn’t have many friends there. As a consequence I started to spend my evenings regularly in Mohsin’s company. It was then and there, that I got myself acquainted to the murky dynamics of Mohsin’s world. Little had I previewed the consequences.
Mohsin was very much into hash. The very burgeresque name given to good old “charas” by those who don’t like to call themselves “charsee”. They don’t smoke charas, they do hash or they smoke pot. More on it some time else but back to Mohsin now. This pot-thing was supplied to him by a police constable, who lived nearby, well at least in terms of distance travelled by car, in police lines quarters. Not that Mohsin was not having money; quite contrary in fact, the reason for going to the policeman to get hash was multi faceted. One, he had the hash of the best quality. Two, being a policeman, he always had it, and that in plenty. Three, the risk factor was automatically eliminated and four, he gave Mohsin this high quality stuff for free.

Now this policeman guy, his name was Ajmal, was originally from Murree but was posted in our city. Once, I remember that was during my first month of job, I asked Mohsin why Ajmal supplied him charas for free? Mohsin, non-chalantly and quite seriously told me that Ajmal was his lover. I guess, now that I try to analyze things retrospectively, that both of them were not homosexuals. Mohsin did it for hash, and frankly enough did not mind it at all (perhaps being a Pathan had to do something with it), while Ajmal, being posted in a city far from where his fiancée was, with whom he was having sex regularly but couldn’t marry her because she was the younger of the two sisters, did it to fulfil his sexual desires.

I suddenly found myself in a different world. Due to my geeky outlook, at least when I was at the university, the female companionship had eluded me. Now that I had money and a car at the tender age of twenty-two I started getting appreciating looks from the girls of my colony. Mohsin, being the expert that he was and the experience that he had despite our age difference, appointed himself my tutor, in the matters of courtship and beyond. I was supplied by quite a handful of mobile numbers to try my luck with and my travails in this “dangerous irresistible pass time” began. I did not smoke but on his insistence I started to do pot. Quite an experience that was. He, rather we, used to laugh at the fact that “Bhai sirf bharay huay cigarette peeta hay”.

Within weeks the false modesty of Pakistani girls was fully exposed to me. They might cover themselves in immense shawls and stuff but are prone to loose their virginity for one Jazz card or a KFC lunch. My life started to get into a pattern; five days of work, evenings with Mohsin and sometimes Ajmal with sometimes them lot frolicking with each other even in my presence, long phone calls to faceless girls whose mobile numbers were provided to me by Mohsin. Dates on Saturday mornings with girls who had skipped college and/or university and with a bit of luck good old apparently consensual sex but prostitution of the most hideous kind in essence, with both the buyer and the bought out touching the depths of moral decadence. Free hash on Saturday nights with Ajmal and Mohsin, long hangovers on Sunday morning and lengthy post-coitus calls to the lady in the evening. I seemed to be making-it-up-to-them because usually we had no time for the cuddling stuff and pillow talk kind of thing as they were always in a hurry to get back to their respective homes.

We now formed a formidable triangle. Ajmal supplying the high grade stuff, Mohsin providing the phone numbers and me chipping in with my car. I was having the time of my life. There comes a summer in everybody’s life when life changes irrevocably. This was my summer and I was loving it. We hit the high point of our summer extravaganza when one evening, we were all quite high by that time, Ajmal proposed a long-weekend in Murree with free stay at one of the decent hostels because Murree was home territory for him. I agreed to bear the conveyance charges subject to one condition. I would bring my girl with me because I was not much into prepaid package type of feminine company available in Murree. Mohsin also vowed that somehow he would also manage a girl to accompany him to the trip. My girl told her parents that their college was going to a trip to “Shimalee Ilaqajaat” and she wanted to go. The permission was granted. Mohsin’s girl played the same trick with similar consequences. Ajmal decided to take leave and go to Murree ahead of us, so as to get each and everything ready for the long weekend. The weekend was smashing, to say the least. I don’t know why we ever went to Murree in the first place because we literally stayed indoors for three days and three nights. Mohsin got to get even the girls on pot. As a consequence, we had a sublime orgy, right there in Murree, in “The” Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Debauchery of the highest attainable level. Moral decadence of extraordinary magnitude. Well to me sex without love has always had immoral connotations, hence the gibberish about corruption of the sole and stuff. My apologies in advance. I was totally transformed. Gone was the geek who trembled with fear and instilled in me was now a macho. Confident and assured, rather on the verge of touching arrogance.

But like all good things, that came to an end. With the kind of risks we were taking, that had to but the manner in which it came left us shell shocked. Ajmal was transferred. In fact he was not transferred, his D.S.P. was transferred and the D.S.P. decided that Ajmal, because of his dedication to work, loyalty to cause and excellent situation handling skills, must go with him. Ajmal, however, assured us that he would be commuting between the new and old job place and we would continue to have our weekend bashes. But both of us, Mohsin and I, knew that our hash connection had been cut off and we should do something to re-establish our drug supply. So we decided to go to Peshawar, and bring in the supplies for at least three months. Money was pooled, Mohsin being a Pathan himself, was confident of finding the stuff in Peshawar. The very next weekend we were off to Peshawar. Peshawar is much more fun than ordinary people think it to be, especially Bara market. Due to American invasion, the market was laden with goods, originally meant to be for the coalition forces but that the soldiers themselves had sold to the Afghans who in turn had brought them to Peshawar in the hope of getting better prices. The Bara market trip was successful. We purchased the desired amount at an unbelievable price. Khan Saab, the elderly shopkeeper who sold us the stuff, offered us to test the stuff then and there. We obliged, of course. That very Khan Saab, I can only presume now, signalled the Attock check post that two burger looking guys were travelling with quite a lot of charas and were there for the taking. We were quite happy to have struck such a good deal and Mohsin decided to celebrate it with a dinner at the famous Namak Mandi. This Namak Mandi dinner is the sole reason of my being, as you would discover in a few lines space.

By the time the dinner had finished, it was already eleven o’ clock. We decided to have another go at the freshly acquired stuff and it was not before twelve that we left Peshawar. Mohsin was driving while the charas was placed under the car battery. Very unexpectedly, we were signalled to stop our vehicle at the Attock check post, it was about two o’ clock in the morning. Mohsin said to me, “Bhai pakrai nahin anna.” And with that he got out of the car with the steering lock in his hand and hit the police constable standing on his side with it, on the head that is. The policeman on my side of the car immediately went for his pistol. He was standing close to the car, so I hit him with the door, while Mohsin, now having dealt with one, came to my help. My action, of hitting him with the door, delayed him for a second and that’s what saved our lives. I am supremely confident that he would have killed us right there had I allowed him to draw the weapon. Fate, dear readers, is a strange thing. The very weapon, that ordinarily would have given him safety, became his undoing. His hand was engaged in drawing the gun from the holster when Mohsin hit him as well on the temple.

It all happened in less than ten seconds and was executed with a clinical smoothness and ruthless efficiency. Both the policemen were now unconscious. There was a tent a good fifteen yards away, serving as there temporary check post. Mohsin went in the tent to check if there was a third one or not. There weren’t any. We later came to know that there are at least four policemen round the clock on that post but it so happened that at midnight they had stopped a car and found two prostitutes in it. Two of the police guys had taken those poor girls to a safe house to enjoy themselves while the two guarding the fort were waiting for their turn. There remained however one major issue, those two, now lying unconscious, had seen my car and thus their unconsciousness proposed only a temporary solution. Mohsin knew that as well. They had seen our faces and we knew that they would come after us, once they get well. So Mohsin decided to deal with the situation in the only way possible. Using a piece of chord, already present in the car, he strangled them both while I held their legs tightly because they were bucking and thrashing around. The whole episode was over in five minutes and we hadn’t even said a word during all this.

I had come a long way from hash and orgies and illegitimate sex and fornication to commit “The Crime”. I was now a murderer. What had begun as a journey on the highway to fun had ended, making a murderer out of me in the process. Surprisingly, I had no remorse whatsoever. I was rather proud that I had dealt with such a delicate situation in such an excellent manner. We reached our home by six o’clock in the morning. It was Sunday, I immediately went to sleep and woke up at about four o’ clock in the afternoon when Mohsin phoned me. He told me that finally his parents had agreed to send him to USA, and he would leave in one month’s time. Both of us followed the news that night quite keenly and the prostitute story came into my knowledge courtesy of a TV channel. Ajmal knew nothing of this and we decided not to tell him anything. About two months later, the government of Pakistan announced a scholarship for higher studies in France. I applied for it, sat the test and was selected. I resigned and went (rather came) to France. Mohsin was already in USA and in a series of dramatic events (I will recount them some other time) Ajmal was married off to a distant cousin in England. This summer, I am going to England and Mohsin is coming to England, hopefully to relive with Ajmal the golden moments that we had together in Pakistan.