Mohanial Bhaskar - An Indian Spy in Pakistan

An Indian Spy in Pakistan

Mohanlal Bhaskar

Translated by
Jai Ratan

Srishti

PUBLISHERS & DISTRIBUTORS

Srishti Publishers & Distributors

N-16, C. R. Park

New Delhi 110 019

First published by

Srishti Publishers & Distrubutors in 2003

Reprinted 2012

Copyright Mohanal Bhaskar

Cover Design: Shivani Babbar

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

CONTENTS

A Night at Sheikh Wahid's

G ulberg has a memorial to Pakistan in the shape of a big minaret, commemorating Qaid-e-Azam Mohammed Ali Jinnah's Karardad-e-Pakistan where he had placed a formal proposal before the Muslim League that a separate country should be carved out for the followers of Islam and a resolution was adopted to that effect. Here Muslims would rule independently free from the taint of other religions and consider themselves as 'pure' and 'sacred'. As such the country was named Pakistan the abode of the pure.

Call it the quirk of history that every sixth house in Gulberg, where that historic resolution was adopted, is now the abode of high-class call-girls. Here also live big shots who have a say in the affairs of Pakistan. Here fates are decided over goblets of wine and at the toss of a pretty head. It is here that aspirants climb up the ladder of administrative hierarchy, sign contracts and obtain route permits and licences.

Someone had taunted the husband of Aklim Akhtar alias General Rani, the keep of Yahya Khan, that did he not feel embarrassed that the General openly hobnobbed with his wife?

The husband smiled, took a sip of whisky and said, "Not at all, Janab. To get on in life I've adopted new ways of thinking. Now I say to myself that this woman is the General's wife and my keep. Once in a while I manage to spend a night with her in bed on the sly."

Sheikh Wahid, tall, with a finely trimmed beard, gold-rimmed spectacles, diamond rings dazzling his fingers, clandestinely dabbled in the business of forged currency notes. Near Adamkhel Pass and in the vicinity of Kair beyond Peshawar, they deal in the currencies of all countries. It is a straightforward business at rates varying from 25 to 50 per cent. Pay with one hand and receive double the amount with the other. The forged notes look so genuine that even banks accept them without raising an eyebrow. One can get all currencies there the Indian rupee, the American dollar, the Russian rouble. You ask for it and they have it.

To outward appearances, Wahid maintains a guest house which is run by his Begum. I knew its code word. In the morning I had phoned up the Begum. "Madam, I hear these days donkeys too have started eating mangoes," I said. "Really, when did you see them eating mangoes?" she asked. "About six or seven hours ago," I replied. She thanked me and said that she would also like to see these animals. The implication being that she had agreed to my coming over to her place between six and seven in the evening.

I reached her kothi at seven on the dot. I gave the darban the code word, telling him that I was coming from Adamkhel and had brought grapes. The darban immediately threw open the door and let me into the drawing room where the Begum was already waiting to receive me. I stared at her as if looking lost and then taking out Rs. 200 from my pocket placed them on the table before her. She smiled at me as she picked up the money and then pressed a button. The side door opened from which ten dazzling figures emerged, all of them college girls. I stared at them like one bewitched trying to decide whom to select to spend the night with when my mind said that such girls were barren of secrets and a woman like the Begum could only have them. So I sent the girls away.

The Begum gave me a quizzical look.

"I'm sorry Aslam Mian," she said. "These are all the girls that I've tonight. I don't have any other to press into your service." She extended her hand to return my money.

"Please don't stand on niceties," I said. "Tonight I want you."

She looked at me surprised. "You mean you prefer me over those young and beautiful girls?"

I said, "You're not only beautiful in my eyes but also seasoned timber too."

"But I won't be free before ten," she said. "I won't mind waiting," I said. "In the meanwhile you can send me a bottle of whisky."

After finishing my food I was relaxing when the Begum came in. I gaped at her as she stood before me looking like the denizen of some other world. I threw my arms around tier. Perhaps it was after a long time that she had chanced upon a person who really admired her. She opened out to me. Slightly intoxicated, she kept mumbling as she lay in my arms and answered all my questions without demur. About Sheikh Wahid, about the army officers and the places they came from and all the military matters they bragged about.

In the morning I woke up at the muezzin's call. The Begum was still asleep. After taking my bath I looked at the morning's paper. A news item said: "Four rebels shot dead in Lahore Cantonment." I was amazed at this balatant lie. I had myself seen hundreds of people falling under the hail of bullets.

Promising to pay another visit I took leave of the Begum and proceeded towards the Shahnoor Studios which I felt was quite a secure place to spend the day in. Here I came across young boys and girls who had run away from home to try their luck in films. Generally, they are reluctant to tell their correct names and the places they hail from.

From Lahore to Multan

I had to meet someone at Multan Cantt. The bus stand at Lahore looks so bright and gay. And I have liked the bus system of Pakistan. Anybody who has the means can buy a route permit from the government by paying a specified amount and can then ply his bus on this route without any restriction. There is no time schedule and hence there, is a keen competition between bus owners. They vie with each other in attracting a passenger and serving him well. "Come Janab! Come Hazoor! the boys cry as they run after prospective passengers and get a four anna tip per passenger from the bus owner for whom they do the canvassing.

The conductors are equally solicitous of the passengers. The women passengers are taken great care of. If a woman is occupying a seat a man would avoid sitting next to her. The seat would even go vacant till another woman passenger occupies it.

Badami Bagh, the bus station that serves Lahore, is quite big and extensive. It was here that last month two of my spy-friend, Sohanlal and Chanan Singh were put under arrest. In the world of spies such arrests have no special import. They are regarded as a part of the game and are taken in the stride.

Our bus was proceeding towards Kasur and I was specially watchful of the deserted roads whose gaiety had been marred by the martial law. People looked so worried and concerned. They could not openly talk against martial law. As I noticed even now electricity had not reached most of the villages of Pakistan. I bad to get down in a village near Montgomery, where I had to obtain information about some of my acquaintances. I was told that the person concerned would meet me at five in the evening outside the military hospital at Multan. I would be required to wipe my face three times with a red kerchief to establish my identity. I immediately set off for Multan. My guide who was living in this village accompanied me.

We came out of the village and stopped by the roadside, for a bus. In front of us, at the other side of the road there were some passengers waiting for the bus going to Lahore. One of them beckoned me to come over to him and said, "Where are you coming from? And what do you do?" I told him that I was serving as an extra in the Shahnoor Film Company. My answer pleased him and he asked me whom I had come to meet here. "Sheikh Abdul Rahman," I replied. He was startled at my reply. "What do you mean Sheikh Abdul Rahman?" he asked me. My guide at once drew closer to me. "This young fellow has come to meet Sheikh Saheb Din," he said. "He is visiting him for the first time." In the meantime our bus came and saying a hurried good-bye we rushed towards the bus.