The Amsterdam Treasures

On a very humid July morning, Malik Sahib sat in his car honking furiously, trying to cut through the traffic at
Shahrah-i-Quaideen. He met with little success. The hour was already 9.40 and his very important client was sure to
have arrived.

"I bet that haram zaada has been going through my magazines," Malik Sahib said loudly to himself.

Malik Sahib was in a quandary. For the past two weeks he thought he had been noticing some of his treasured
magazines bought on business trips to Europe mysteriously disappear from, and then reappear at their secret hiding
place on the top shelf of the bathroom cupboard underneath his old and discarded kurta shalwaars. This morning his
suspicions had been confirmed. He clearly recalled moving "The Defiling of Sister Mary" from his briefcase to the shelf
a couple of days ago. The book was a bombshell that he had recently acquired in Amsterdam. He had been anticipating
much viewing and reading pleasure from it.

For a moment he had considered asking his wife if she had been rummaging through his old things, but then thought
the better of it. She was a petite lady, and the shelf was not easily accessible to her. More of relevance was the fact
that she was a hijab-observing khatoon, and had she seen the stuff, she could hardly have maintained her usual
sweet, wifely countenance. Instead, she had been her normal busy self in the morning - ready with his clothes ironed,
his lunch packed, feeding Hamza, their two-year old, some porridge, ordering Arshad to run out and get some bhindi
from the tarkari wallah, and seeing him off to the office with a smile.

"No, it couldn’'t be Naseema," he repeated to himself. "It has to be that blasted servant!"

He had looked for an opportunity to confront Arshad in the morning, hence his delayed departure, but none had
presented itself. Hamza was now the age that he shadowed his father everywhere - and wherever Hamza went, so
did Naseema. At times like these, Malik Sahib found it extremely annoying, but to his credit, he had managed to retain
his cool, and had left for office without yelling at anyone.

A little more thought, and Malik Sahib resolved to send Naseema to her maika in the evening so that he could
interrogate Arshad to his heart’s content. The more he thought about it, the more indignant Malik Sahib got - no he
wasn’t just indignant; he was fuming at Arshad’s audacity.

"I will probably have to end up firing the bastard, after I give him a good hiding," he decided. "And to think, he couldn’'t
be more than 16 or 17!"

As soon as he entered his office at 10 o’clock, his surly boss was on his case.

"Do you know that Mr. Bari has been waiting for you for over half an hour. This kind of tardiness on your part is
getting very tiresome, Malik. It can’t be tolerated for much longer. See to it that Mr. Bari gets your complete attention.
Cater to his every whim. We don’t want to lose his firm’s business."

Mr. Bari was a fat, important client, and he made sure everyone knew it. This of course made him a very demanding
customer. While listening attentively to the ins and outs of Mr. Bari’s insurance needs, Malik Sahib tried desperately
not to think of the missing Sister Mary. From time to time he would mentally berate himself for not finding a safer
place for his secret cache. He had his reputation to maintain.

By the time he had rid himself of Mr. Bari and his demands, it was already time for Zuhr prayers. However, as soon
as he had started making his way to the bathroom for vozoo, the phone rang. It was a tearful Naseema.

"Malik Sahib, please come home as soon as you can," she wailed. "You know the diamond ring that you got me from
Amsterdam … well, its missing. I took it off and put it on the kitchen table to wash the bhindi, and when I looked for it
afterwards, it was gone. I’ve looked for it everywhere, and I can’t find it. I am sure Arshad has swiped it. I am afraid
he is going to run off with it, if you don’t come and apprehend him soon."

Malik Sahib hurriedly made his way home, and into the servant quarter. He was outraged to find the slightly-built
Arshad lying on his char pai, Sister Mary in his left hand - his right was occupied elsewhere. Beads of sweat were
visible above Arshad’s lips, intermingled with his sparse mustache, and an unlit cigarette was hanging loosely from his
lips.

"Sharam naheeN aati, cheezeiN churatay huay, bayghairat kahiN ke," Malik Sahib thundered, snatching the book
away, and slapping Arshad in the face. "KahaaN hay Begum Sahib ki angoothi?"

"Kon si angoothi, Sahib? MeiN nay kui angoothi nahiN lee," protested Arshad, hurriedly getting up, as Malik Sahib
roughly threw all his belongings on the floor, looking for the ring, but more importantly, looking for other pornographic
material that Arshad might have hidden in his samaan. Finding none, he gave Arshad a big kick in his now deflated
appendage, and locked him inside his room.

"Naseema, call the police, the haraam khor is not confessing," he ordered his still sobbing wife, as soon as he walked
into the house.

"I can’'t do it, you please do it," she requested.

Amazingly, the local thanay daar, with a couple of side-kicks showed up in no time. Naseema described what had
happened.

"There was no one else there but Arshad, so only he could have taken it," added Malik Sahib. "This was a very
valuable ring with a big diamond that I got for my wife all the way from Amsterdam. This haraam khor must have
realized that he can sell it for a lot of money, Inspector Sahib, because I only got it two weeks ago, and now its
missing."

Arshad was roundly beaten, kicked, and punched by all three. Still, he wouldn’t give up the ring, and kept protesting his
innocence, which only got him a few more punches and slaps.

"Don’t worry Begum Sahiba, let him have a few days of jail ki hawa, and he will come to his senses and tell us where
he hid the angoothi," said the burly thanay daar, handcuffing and shoving the dazed and by now very bruised Arshad in
the back of their jeep. "Its amazing what a few days of special jail treatment will do."

Malik Sahib had a restful night, although Naseema slept fitfully. She was a little angry at her husband for not taking no
for an answer in bed that night, when he could see that she was so upset over losing her ring. Also, she could not get
the ring out of her mind, and kept praying that Allah, or the police wallahs would make Arshad come to his senses
soon.

Next morning Naseema rose early as always, when she heard Hamza making noises in the next room. She really
enjoyed the quiet time with her son in the morning before her husband awakened and she got busy with all his needs
and the household chores. Hamza greeted her noisily. She changed his soiled diaper and was about to throw it out
when she saw a shiny object intermingled with the excrement. It was her precious Amsterdam ring. She was
overjoyed.

"Malik Sahib, I found the ring," she told her husband animatedly, as soon as he was up. "Hamza must have picked it up
from the table and swallowed it, and it came out today. I found it in his diaper."

"Well, how many times have I told you that Allah listens to your prayers, you good woman," exclaimed her husband.

"Will you call the police station and tell them that we found the ring," asked Naseema.

"Hmmm, I think I’'ll let that blighter get a few more days of special jail treatment," replied Malik Sahib. "I tell you
Naseema, he was up to no good."

"What do you mean," she asked quizzically, perplexed at her husband’s response.

"Well, I didn’'t want to tell you this, but since you ask …when I went through his things, looking for your ring, I was
shocked to find many indecent materials in his room," confided her husband. "I can’t even begin to tell you how dirty it
was. And haven’t you seen how he stares at the TV from behind our backs when we are watching Indian movies. I
can’'t bear the thought of this filthy creature being in the same house as you."

"In that case, a few tough days in jail may cure him of his disgusting habits," concluded Naseema.

"I’'ll remind you to call the thaana next week," she said to her husband’s retreating back, as he disappeared into the
bathroom, newspaper in hand.