Steering Blindly On A Curved Road

DAWN newspaper

23^rd March 2013

SUICIDE AT SEAVIEW

Karachi: Aslam Khan, age 32, was found dead at seaview last night. The cause of his death seems not to be murder, as is common in these unfortunate times, rather by a deliberate drug overdose. Our condolences lie with his friends and family and we wish them luck in coping with a future deprived of Aslam.

Shrugging off my black coat, I picked up the newspaper from a few days ago that lay on the table. My eyes were drawn to one particular article; one I had read multiple times. It was the reason of my being garbed in mourning clothes. As I was reading through the tragic incident at seaview, I heard a knock. The postman stood there with an envelope, which was disorientating from the norm of emails and phone calls.

I tore open the envelope, and a postcard tumbled out. The front pictured a breathtaking photograph of the Himalayas in the north of Pakistan, while the back had only three words inscribed upon it: ‘A Killer View.’ There was no signature. My heart thudded as my eyes flitted between the newspaper and the postcard. Fear shot through my body as I wondered who could send that, the only other person who knew was now dead…

Coincidence! I tried to assure myself it was nothing. All the same, I shredded the postcard and discarded it immediately.

The next couple of days were as ordinary as a 32-year-old man’s life can be; work, food and sleep. The monotony of this endless cycle was broken a few days later.

On April 1^st, another envelope arrived in the mail. Hesitating to open it this time, I gingerly pulled out a photograph. Two young boys were laughing carelessly as they stood at the edge of a lake. My heart ached at the sight: Aslam-my best friend, and I.  A caption was scrawled onto the picture: ‘Never Again’. Who would want to torture me in such a way? The memories of the lake came back like a landslide, as the sender of this photograph had hoped.

We were standing at the water’s edge, peering into the depths of the lake. Fish swam around in circles. They look so calm and peaceful, I had said. Imagine how much fun it would be to poke sticks into the lake and spear them, Aslam had said. No stranger to Aslam’s sadistic sense of humour, I laughed at this. Aslam derived his humour from sadism, I knew.

We were completely oblivious to the events that would unfold all these years later. Who would have thought that that smiling face would be lying in the morgue as a result of taking his life? Oh Aslam- my best friend, my other half. One would never think this boy would turn out an alcoholic drug addict. Even a year ago, one would laugh at the thought of it. It all started That Day. The picture of the mountains flashed through my head. A tear rolled down my cheek. I felt my chest tighten.

Grabbing a fist of my hair with my hand, the memory of Aslam drinking himself to oblivion came flooding back. Stop, I constantly told him. He would ignore me, saying he needed to forget. The guilt had been eating up my insides so I let him continue.

A few months later I found him smoking his way through crates of cigarettes. A similar conversation took place, except I attempted to be more forceful. He ignored me.

Six months after That Incident, Aslam decided more drastic measures were needed to forget: drugs. I all but threw those drugs away. Maybe I should have done that. Would he be sitting opposite me, laughing and mocking everyone in his cynical manner? Except he would not be laughing, he never laughed after That Incident. A joyful cynic is one thing, but a serious cynic can turn sadistic, especially under the influence of drugs.

The tears were falling faster now, the ache in my chest growing.

Was it sadness, or was it guilt?

The latter. It gnawed at me and chewed me up from the inside. I tried to fight it. I threw myself into work. I distracted myself through every possible non-fatal mean. Yet every liquid reminded me of alcohol, and every cigarette I saw whispered to me: ‘it was your fault’.

On May 16^th, the postman visited my house again. There was the customary envelope, except this time it was accompanied by a parcel. Taking it in, I sunk onto my couch, wondering how this mysterious sadist could torture me any more. I pulled out a letter with trembling fingers and began to read.

My ‘dear’ friend

Let’s flash back to when it all begun. A year ago, in February, on the 15th, five friends decided to go for a mountain climbing expedition in the Himalayan Mountains of Pakistan, to Makra Peak. Snow of course was said to make climbing jeopardous but it was you who said that danger only added to the thrill. Oh, the first few days were incredible, but weather is unpredictable, and by the fifth day, snow was falling thickly all around. Yet you still said: ‘No, it will clear up by the afternoon, let’s go.’ The other three were clever enough to decline, but I, your other half, could not refuse you. You were wrong. The weather didn’t clear up. The snow fell faster than ever. Our vision was obscured by white. Chilled to the bone, we attempted to get back. Of course, we weren’t the only fools out there; another poor soul was stuck too. I was about to rush and help him but you convinced me to leave him; we did not have time to spare. We would freeze out there if we stayed longer, you said. Back at the lodge, it was you who decided to keep this incident a secret.

Did you ever wonder, after that day, what came of that man? The one we left to die?  Well, I did. I tried to forget. But nothing, not alcohol, not cigarettes, and not even drugs could wipe the image imprinted on my brain. There was only one solution left, I thought. But if I was to be punished, so were you. I prepared these ‘presents’ and bribed the postman to send them on specific days. (You would be surprised to know how easy it is to manipulate decent people). I know how your mind works, I know you will be joining me soon enough.  March 23^rd- everything was in place; I was about to be freed. The beach is a wonderful place to die. This was it. It was time.

-A

With trembling fingers, I ripped open the parcel. In it lay a small bottle that contained what looked like an ordinary medicine, but instinct told me it was much more than that. A small note was attached.

Do you know what the last thing I saw before I died was? That poor man, and how I was repenting for my sins. I was punished for what we did; it’s only fair you are too. Think about all the guilt flooding through you right now. The solution to eradicating it is in this bottle. It will be quick, and painless. You shall join me soon.

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I reread the letter. It wasn’t my fault; I told him trying to forget would get him nowhere; that there was no escaping it. Embracing it was the only way, but he ignored me. First the alcohol, then the constant smoking, and then drugs; what could I do to stop him then?

Maybe I should have let him tell someone. Keeping it silent prevented him from getting help. So was I to blame? Then how can I repent for my mistake?

Well, another voice in my head interjected, you could fulfill his dying wish.

I glanced at the bottle again.

Aslam’s face flashed through my mind.

Do you know what the last thing I saw before I died was?

I felt as thought I was buried under snow.

I tipped the pill into my hand. An instant, and it would all be over.

I raised my hand to my mouth.

NO! The first voice was back. You are much stronger than this. Eradicating the guilt is never the solution. Take the advice that Aslam never took.

I’m right, I thought. I survived this because I never tried to suppress the guilt; I used it as a lesson. I was strong in the way he never was. I became selfless. I did not end it then. I will not end it now. The pill slipped through my fingers and disappeared between the couch cushions.

I had fought Aslam’s well thought out plan, but the guilt could still come back to haunt me when I least expected it. The only solution was to find the root of the problem, which was what happened to the man in the snow.

With the aid of the Internet, I searched mountain climbing incidents in February 2012 in Pakistan. Several articles came up. They reported the infamous blizzard that had changed the course of my best friend’s life. I then found the article that held the key to my life.

DAWN newspaper

20^th February 2012

MAN SAVED IN THE MOUNTAINS

That was all I needed to read. The ache in my chest lightened and I let out a sigh of relief.

But then another thought plagued me. Aslam had let his life slip away for nothing. I had lost my best friend for nothing. Why had we not thought to find out what became of the man? His fate sat in the very newspaper I received every day but never bothered to read until it became relevant to me specifically. So it was my fault. It was my own self-centered nature that had caused all of this. I was not innocent in this matter.

I knew there was no way I could compensate the loss, but I could repent.

One day I headed out to Seaview with bags of food for those who sat starving on the streets. A life was taken here; therefore lives would be saved here too. I walked along till the restaurants. A familiar face caught my eye in the crowd and a fresh wave of guilt washed over me as I found myself staring at Aslam’s brother.

Do not suppress it, I told myself. Taking a deep breath, I began to walk over to him.

That was when I heard the most terrifying noise of my life. The sounds of laughter turned to screaming as masked men entered the vicinity, carrying guns in their hands. I frantically scanned for a safe place when my gaze fell upon Aslam’s brother again. His back was turned, and although he could not see it, my line of sight saw a gun aimed at his back. Without a further thought, I sprinted towards him. Pushing him out of the way, I turned around, watching the bullet speed towards me.

DAWN newspaper

19^th May 2013

A HERO IN OUR MIDST

Karachi: One lucky citizen was spared at the recent Seaview shooting due to the heroic actions of Sajid Hussain. The citizen, the brother of the late Aslam Khan, tells us the tale of how the brave Hussain pushed him out of the way and as a result, was fatally wounded. The deaths of late have been devastating, but perhaps Hussain and Khan, childhood acquaintances, will be reunited in heaven.