Free The Pakistani Bride by Bapsi Sidhwa

none other!” interposed Chaudhry Sahib, springing to his feet with an agility surprising in so heavy a man. “Only a man of your caliber can be trusted in this matter. As to your being a fugitive, rest assured. I give you my word as a Mussalman and the word of our Leader . . . my word is his word . . . You will live where you wish, and maintain your status and respect. Not a soul will dare touch one hair on your head. In fact, you will be favored. If it is more money you wish, maybe I . . .”
    â€œNo, no Sir,” said Nikka hastily. “That is not the point at all. Let me think on the matter. Could I see you tomorrow?”
    â€œYes, think by all means!” Chaudhry Sahib picked up his turban and lowered it on to his head with practiced precision. “If I were younger, I wouldn’t bother you. By the way, we will give you a gun—and any information you need. We know
the man’s habits. That should help. You will have to study him yourself, of course. He is a wily landlord. Anyway, think it over. We will discuss details after you decide.” That evening Nikka took Qasim into his confidence.
    â€œWhat do you think?” he asked.
    â€œWhy, kill the man of course! What is there to think about? Haven’t you killed before?”
    To Qasim’s amazement Nikka said, “No, I haven’t. I broke a man’s neck once and he died. But that was in a wrestling bout, a professional accident. Why should I kill a man who has done me no harm?”
    â€œBecause you will receive five thousand rupees!” retorted Qasim. “Why, there is nothing to it. I will help you, if you like. You know they won’t let you down.”
    Nikka’s scruples dwindled. Eventually he was given a photograph of the victim, a thin, tall, predatory-looking man dressed in a heavy silken lungi and achkan-coat; bespectacled and balding.
    The man lived in Lalamusa but visited Lahore frequently. Here he stayed at his brother’s bungalow on Lawrence Road, the exclusive domain of the rich. There was no point in gunning him down at Lalamusa where he wielded influence. It would be almost impossible to escape his followers and bodyguards. The villages around Lalamusa were loyal to him, whereas at Lahore his support was limited. All Nikka had to do was kill him and get away undetected. Chaudhry Sahib had promised that Nikka would not be pursued or traced. “That,” he said confidently, “is my responsibility. If need be, we will provide a scapegoat.”
    The man was expected in Lahore in two days.
    Nikka scouted around. He discovered that their quarry was nervous about just the sort of event that was being plotted. Obviously, outside his domain he had numerous enemies
and took every precaution. He arrived and departed in a convoy of three identical black Chevrolets with green-curtained windows. Nikka kept his eyes peeled for the predatory-looking bespectacled man, but each time the cars disgorged confusingly similar personages, swarthy men in extravagant floor-sweeping lungis, lordly achkan-coats and tall turbans. It was days before Nikka learned to identify his charge.
    Disguised alternately as a fruit vendor or a gardener tending the patch of municipal shrubbery in front of the bungalow, he kept his quarry under surveillance.
    â€œHe must be scared out of his piss,” Nikka thought when he saw him once change places with the driver and open doors for his laughing henchmen.
    Past the gates, the cars curved away in screeching, dust-raising haste.
    Qasim had requested leave for a week. One morning he strolled by the bungalow studying it carefully. The whitewashed house gleamed like a mottled bird through the foliage of peepul and eucalyptus trees. A vacant lot on the right of the bungalow held a gas pump. The spot occasionally served as an open-air car-repair garage. On the other side, standing behind driveways carpeted with luxurious layers of red earth, was a row of palatial