The Crime Reporter

Karachi was burning; inflamed by hostility, prejudice, and politics. Tariq Aatik was a thirty-seven-year old rickshaw driver. He knew it’s dangerous to travel in the city that late, asking for death. It was his livelihood. He had to earn this hard money. He travelled in the nights when it was most perilous, because then he could ask more money from the needy passengers. It was one of those nights. He was driving by Phase Five, thinking about his future life, when a wealthy looking fat and tall man loomed out. Tariq could see the man was bald with big head and steady eyes. “Yessir,” He looked at the man who was over fifty and nearly hundred KGs in weight, wearing blue three piece. The Old Fat man cast a suspicious glance at Tariq. “Son, I’ve an urgent work and my car’s betraying me again. I want to go to Korangi Four. Not far away. I’ll give you hundred rupees.” The man enticed him by handsome money. “Yessir, just sit!” He was quick to answer, not expecting any harm in it. “Son, I’ll, I’ve a suitcase. My house is just ahead. I came here for a vehicle.” “No problem, sir! Sit!” The man got into the rickshaw. “On left,” he was telling about his house, “yes that green gate.” Tariq looked at the gate and stopped near it. “Go into the house.” The Old Fat man seemed much lazy. Tariq drove into the house, “Wait here, for a minute.” The Old Fat man walked into the hallway. Tariq looked around at the dimly lit courtyard of the bungalow. It was sown by fragrant flower plants, while the soil was carpeted with expensive grass, he could only dream about. The flowers and grass were creating an aura that engrossed all his attention until the Old Fat man came out with his heavy and big suitcase. ‘What this suitcase can contain? He must be a richer man!’ Tariq thought. The Old Fat man came closer with the swelled suitcase. It seemed he had stuffed it with whatever he could or provided. “Son, help me putting the suitcase in the backseat.” “Yessir, don’t worry!” He put the suitcase on backseat. “Thank you, son. Now, drive fast! We’ve to reach there.” Tariq accelerated the rickshaw. “Just take the Korangi Road. I’ll tell you the short cuts.” The Old Fat man seemed impatient to reach his destination. “I know all the short cuts of the city.” “I know it, son! You’re a professional driver, but I’m driving and living in the city since then, when you must be a toddler. So don’t argue and follow me as I say.” The Old Fat man turned a bit reprehensive. Tariq had faced many others like him, who always paid handsome tip when they reached at their destinations. Tariq was following the fat man’s instructions, who was eager to travel by dark streets, rather than taking the main roads. Soon they reached at Korangi Four. “Drive straight until the farm houses arrive.” The Old Fat man told him in a bit softer tone. “Yessir,” Tariq was thinking about the handsome tip and also, to buy some sweets for his son. “Sir, where you want to go?” He stopped his rickshaw reaching near the end of city. He was fearful now. This man could be a maniac or someone like that. ‘What he has in his big swelling suitcase?’ He thought. “Son, you seem frightened. I’ll show you what I’ve in this suitcase? Don’t worry, kid! Just drive ahead. There’s a house on the left. We’ve almost reached the place.” “I don’t think there’s house on the left.” “There’s, my son. Don’t argue. I’ll give you two hundred rupees.” Tariq pulled the handle and drove in the dark. The farm houses on their right were like ghost houses since the political turmoil and violence in the city. In a moment he found the old dark house on the left, appeared as ruined old bungalow: similar to some deserted castle. “This house, what you want to do here?” Tariq was frightened. All he could remember that once he passed this place, years ago, the female passenger attributed about this house: “Brother, this is a ghost house, a witch-dwelling.” He evoked it all. “Drive into the house, son!” Tariq felt conscious after the Old Fat man’s ordering words. He remained quiet, looking at the half collapsed house. This was a big house. It was shrouded by darkness and by sinister atmosphere, what seemed mostly the imagination of Tariq, combined with the effect of days and nights in the burning city. “I’ll not go further. Give me the fare. I’m leaving you now.” He seemed fearful of death. This man could be one of those criminals who were at large these days. He was reluctant to listen to the fat man any longer. “Son, don’t be like a stubborn child. I cannot carry this heavy suitcase. Drive into the house.” “You flatterer, sly fat man! I realized it now, how cunning you’re. You made it all. Give me, my fare.” He no longer was respecting the Old Fat man. His dignity seemed vanished from Tariq’s mind. The Old Fat man got out from the rickshaw, looking angry. “Son, why you think like that? This house is not prohibited to enter. You must be old fashioned, huh? Witch, magic, tricks, you believe in these old beliefs? These are discarded material. Not this suitcase. I’ve to put it in the safe place, inside this house. And you know why? I’ll tell you when I’ll put it safely. Don’t be like a child.” The fat man touched Tariq’s chin like he was his own child. Tariq could feel the fat man’s mincing words and meek attitude was only a façade of unknown crime or something similar. ‘Who could trust on any stranger like him? I was fool to do it.’ He drove the rickshaw inside. The yard of the decrepit house was littered with garbage, stone and bricks, filling the air with foul odor. Tariq stopped before the old rickety hallway. “Son, help me putting the suitcase.”