The condemned uncle

                                                                                  THE CONDEMNED UNCLE-
                                                                                    By Shah Abdul Ghani
                                                                                      ©Shah Abdul Ghani   


There are many passions. Many  religions. Many  cultures. Many  colors. Many  races. Cricket is a mixture of all these. 15-year old Hussain knew this. That is the reason Hussain wanted to become a cricketer. He loved the diversity.

"  Papa , come on . Quick, please. The store might get crowded. Let's leave."

" Coming  , beta." His father replied, "I've never seen anyone as impatient as you."

"  You've  got to be impatient, arrogant and hard to break into the Indian team, you know."

"If that is so, then you should already be in the team. We are just going to buy a cricket for you, not a place in the Indian team. Don't be impatient."

Hussain rolled his eyes but did not reply. If there was one thing he did not like about his father, it was that he never hurried. He knew that if he prolonged the conversation, it would only result in more time getting wasted.
Hussain had already thought about the kit he was going to buy. It contained a bat, two leather balls, stumps, a pair of gloves, helmet, and other safety gear. He was already imagining the pleasure of putting them on and showing them to his friends.

" Okay, let's go." His father, Tahil , kick started the vehicle. The engine roared to life, and Hussain hopped on. As they started to move, the surroundings changed from residential areas to roads clogged by traffic.

"  Papa, what were you doing before coming ?" asked Hussain above the noises of engines and horns.

"Ah , the usual." Tahil called back, "Writing letters asking for updates on your uncle's situation."  Hussain dreaded this part of their conversation. It always ended with his father breaking down. Hussain's uncle, his father's younger brother had left their house in a fit of rage over a decade ago and had never returned. There was no contact with him ever since. His name was Salman.

The traffic started moving. They rode the rest of the way in silence until they reached the sports store. Hussain ran into the store where he was joined by his father. Together they went through the many kits, until finally deciding upon the one which Hussain had already chosen. They bought it. Hussain wore it over his shoulder, and then hopped on the scooter.

"We'll go through a different way on the way back." said Tahil, "I want to show you something."

"Through that highway-like road, where workers live?"  Hussain was learning routes, as boys of his age already knew more than him about the surroundings.

"Yes."

Then they were on the way back. Dusk was falling by now. Hussain spotted a young girl holding a bat over her shoulder. He pointed her out to his father.

"Papa, look. Even though these people are workers, their children still do play cricket. Isn't it amazing?"

"Yes, it is." Tahil replied, "She is content with a small roughly made wooden bat. Look at you; you want all branded things..."

"Watch out!!! Hussain yelled.

But it was too late. Just then the lorry rammed into the scooter. Hussain was thrown behind by the impact. When he groggily got up a few minutes later, he saw a crowd gathering near the lorry. He removed the kit which was on his back. When he went over, he just saw a bloody mess that had once been his father.
His father had just spoken his last words.

The driver had escaped .he just couldn’t believe it. "How did that moron run away?” he wondered. It was just shocking that out of all the people who were present at the place, no one saw him running away.  They were all in their homes, the workers said. "Oh, crap!" he thought. The hit and run incident had become the feed for the news starved media. There was an article in the Times of India, which read "Lorry rams into scooter; father killed but son survives." The Deccan Herald read," Drinking and driving: could it get worse?"
The Indian Express concluded their article by saying that there was no info yet on who the killer was.
A TV news channel had a clip of his mother weeping uncontrollably. "Why didn’t I die instead of him?" Hussain thought. The medical reason was that when the force of the impact pushed him back, he landed on the kit he was still wearing which acted as a shock absorber and did not give him any serious injuries.

The investigation went on, but after a period of time when the media focus gradually went off, it lost steam. The family of the deceased had moved on, hence the investigation was not considered serious.
Or so it seemed. The police department was under criticism from all quarters for corruption, and not enough number of arrests made. Hence, the top brass of the police had to find a good way to regain their image. So, this case was chosen. They wanted to show that killers will not be able to just run away. They wanted to show that justice will not be denied.
So they began to work quietly. All the people who had anything to do with the case were pressurized to tell everything they knew.. The lorry company was pestered until they reached the transport company. After some strings were pulled and after a great deal of arm twisting, they got a list of suspects. They monitored them, and without the suspects' knowing took all their fingerprints. They compared all the fingerprints to the one on the steering wheel of the lorry, until they found one perfect match. This report was taken to the commissioner. He rubbed his hands with glee.  '' Now comes the real fun'', he thought.

Hence the lawsuit was lodged. It was about five years since the case was supposedly closed. The state attorney called Hussain and broke the news to him that his father's killer had been identified.
They quickly arranged a meeting.
The now 20-year old Hussain's life had just started coming back on track. He had forgotten his past. But one telephone call had brought it all back. The caller didn’t tell much except that the killer had been identified and that they needed to meet as soon as possible.
They met at a cafe that afternoon.

"So, you are the person who had called me?" Hussain asked, spotting an unfamiliar person in the cafe he visited almost daily.

"Are you Hussain?" he asked.

"Yes. And you?"

“Aditya. Aditya Nandy." He offered his hand." I'm the state attorney."

"I think you have some quite important things to discuss."

"Many."

"Let's sit down."

They sat at a table far from where the others sat.

"Okay, so can I start?"

"Just wait for a second. Hey, can you get us two strong cups of tea? “Hussain asked a waiter.” Yeah, continue."

"Well, when everyone had thought that this case was done and dusted, the police top brass apparently restarted it. Some really serious investigation was done, one thing led to another, and finally they rounded off on this guy."

"Go on."

"I myself got to know about this yesterday. I did my homework and then I called you. So I'm supposed to represent the state as well as you against this guy."

The tea arrived. Both of them took the cups.

"Okay then. Who is the killer?" asked Hussain. He started taking a sip.

"Some Salman Qureshi. He supposedly..."

Hussain spat out the tea in shock.

" Who?" Hussain had stood up by now.

"A Salman Qureshi."

“Are you a hundred percent sure?" asked Hussain, dreading the obvious answer.

"Yes."

The cup and saucer slipped from Hussain's hand. The tea started acting like a jelly in the air; it seemed like an eternity until the cup hit the ground and broke into a dozen pieces.

"Hey, what happened? Are you okay?"

"He- he is my long lost uncle." Hussain stuttered.

"What?"

"Yes. He is my uncle."

"But he doesn’t even have the same surname."

"Do you know why he left?"

"Because he was angry?"

"Yeah. He wanted to forget his family forever. So he changed his surname to Qureshi. That was the very last thing we ever heard about him."

"But, he could be any other Salman Qureshi."

"Maybe, but I have a very bad feeling that he is the one."

"Oh my god ! I seriously wasn’t expecting anything like this."

"Can I meet him?"

"He is in prison, but we can arrange a meeting."

"Then do it."

"Fine.”

"Call me with the details for the meeting."

"Bye."

Hussain walked away. He went home and broke the news to his mother. She took it well.
“I’m not going to be involved in any of this, son."

"You don't have to be, Ma. Already you are going through so much."

"I love you, my son. I know you will handle this in the best possible way."

"I love you too, Ma."
The phone started ringing. Hussain picked it up.

"Hey,  Hussain. This is aditya."

"Yeah, tell me."

"Can you come to meet him now? The prison isn't very far, you know."

Hussain took a deep breath. "I'll be there." He hung up. "Ma, I’m going to meet him. Bye."
"May the lord be with you. Bye."

He rode his bike to the prison where Aditya was waiting. They started walking towards the prison.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick."

"I can understand that."

The prison loomed over them. A guard opened the door and looked at them as if they will never come back. Another guard escorted them as they moved towards their newest prisoner's cell.
Hussain heard his footsteps clearly. The prison was eerily silent. They approached his cell from the right.
Hussain stood in front of the bars and looked at his uncle. He stared back.
"He has all my father's features", Hussain thought.
The key whined in the lock as the guard opened the door. They moved in.
"Show your hands." The asked ordered Salman; handcuffs were mandatory in such meetings.
"That won't be necessary. He doesn’t have a lorry to kill me." Hussain told the guard who shook his head and respectfully made his exit. Salman ignored the obvious sarcasm.
"Why are you here?" asked Salman.

"To see my father's killer, but to find my uncle instead."

"Hey..."

"If you think I've come here to listen to your whining about my family, you are gravely mistaken. "

"Okay, what do you want me to talk about?"

"Let's start off with why you left my family."

"No. I'm not going to talk about that. But I'll tell you one thing. It wasn't because of your father. I liked him very much. I love you too."

"Oh, thank you. I'm honored."

"Hey, I regret everything. I regret leaving you family. I regret taking up driving as a job. I regret running away, okay?"

"So, you did kill him purposely."

"No." Salman replied painfully, "My life is so badly ripped apart, that I found relief only in drinking. That unfortunate night, I recalled my whole life. So, I was drinking. That road where I collided is always deserted. So I took that route. Obviously, I didn’t know that the man I hit was my brother. I ran away because I didn’t want a part of your family to be in prison. That would be disastrous. "

Hussain started weeping. He couldn’t stop himself. "What a pitiable family I have.” he thought. He expected Salman to be a cold hearted man, with no regrets for what he had done. But instead he found a man who regretted everything. It made his task of convicting him much tougher.

Next day the trial started. For Hussain, it all passed like a blur. The Indian express reported:" The trial of Salman Qureshi accused of running over Tahil, started yesterday. The deceased's son, Hussain, is expected to give his testimony tomorrow. All the required evidence has been submitted and it will be like a miracle if the accused is acquitted. Hence, the trial is expected to be over tomorrow with the verdict expected to be a death sentence for Salman."

Hussain vomited profusely that day.  He hated all of it. He hated the media attention. He hated the courtroom, he hated the judge, he hated Salman. After vomiting a dozen times, he called Aditya.
"Hey, Aditya, we need to discuss something. Let's meet."

"What?"

"Let's call it tomorrow's strategy."

"I'll come over."

And he did come over. The meeting saw frustration, anguish, and pity from both sides. Hands were raised in disagreement and sweat was wiped from brows. It finally got over after four hours.
“I hope we don't regret this." said Aditya.
“We won't."
They shook hands and Aditya left.

The decisive day came. Hussain was up early. He scanned the paper to find the same news. He kept it down. He went through the routine of getting ready for the day. Finally he sat down in his starched and ironed clothes. His mother was still sleeping. The clock showed that he was an hour away from trial. With a deep breath, he got up to leave.
He went out of the house, and he was blinded by his thoughts. He shouted out the world from his thoughts. Now he couldn’t hear anything except his footsteps. He climbed on to his vehicle and left for the court.
He reached the court after twenty minutes. Forty minutes left for trial. The reporters saw him and crowded him. They started asking questions. "Is he your uncle?" was followed by "Will you take care of his burial?”. He simply walked on.
A reporter reported, “As you can see, his anger at Salman cannot be controlled by him......".

After ten minutes, he sat inside the courtroom. Thirty minutes left. He blindly stared ahead as the reporters, lawyers and everyone else assembled until the thirty minutes passed by.
The judge came in. Everybody stood up. The trial started. Hussain was summoned to the witness stand. He went there and faced the entire courtroom. He was asked to speak.


"Obviously, I want my father's killer to be punished." He began. “And most probably if he is convicted ,he will be given a death sentence." He paused and looked at everybody else.
"No good will be done if he is killed. My father will not come back again. Hence, I withdraw all charges against the accused."

There was a deadly silence. Finally the judge said," Okay, then. This case is dismissed."

All hell broke loose. The media went berserk. Hussain quickly walked out of the court. He hopped on his bike and sped away.