The Project, by Sher Shah

The Dawn

Books & Authors

January 8, 2006

EXCERPTS: Defining moments
This novel focuses on a fictitious ‘project’ comprising a group of retired professionals who hope to make Pakistan a modern state by 2030

Sher Shah writes about a crucial Project meeting which causes a great deal of apprehension among its members

Anjum was already upstairs lying in her bed, reading a Virginia Woolf novel and watching a Pakistani TV drama series simultaneously. The painful episode at the dinner last night had disturbed the stream of Saleem’s thoughts and it took him some time to compose his mind again. After coming back to his study, he sank deep in his chair behind the desk and had tried hard to quell the surging memories of his son and the unbearable agony when he had to carry his young body in his arms to the graveyard, to be buried in a small grave beside his grandfather.

The giggling and laughing of the child had been echoing in his mind ever since he had held Anjum sobbing in his arms in the bedroom. Now memories of the child had been running around wild in his unsettled mind. If he could, he would have cried in the solitude of his den, away from Anjum’s eyes and those of the world. But his tears had dried out after the first six months of their son’s death. Now he could only feel a growing pain in a corner of his chest whenever his son’s laughter made its tender sounds heard inside his mind. These echoes had been growing in magnitude for some time now, along with his recurring chest pains.

A part of him was compelling him to go upstairs to be with Anjum and lock out the world and all that it contained. But another, dominant part of his rationality was forcing him to face the same world, to deal with it as it demanded to be dealt with. Then, after a great struggle with his heart, he had commanded his mind to come back to the ‘project’ and to the coming war. In the wake of this transition of focus, he had forced himself to study the three sheets of his mind-maps on the desktop to find flaws in his calculations.

The last half hour was spent in these deliberations. After allowing room for some more consideration, Saleem resolved to listen to his intuition and chose a scenario out of the three that he found most compelling. Then he thought intently to find the right method and strategy to stop the coming Indian-Russian-Iranian enterprise in the region. Now that he understood the different possibilities in which this war could manifest itself he could plan accordingly to contain it in the planning stages.

But there was also this gut feeling that was refusing to go away. It had taken a blurred form in his thoughts when he had finished his first mind-map and it had become clearer when he was finished with his third sheet. This nascent feeling was telling him that there were hidden hands behind the war on September 24. It was conveying to him the idea that there had to be some other entity or entities that would really profit from the war between Pakistan and India; that Iran and India were being manipulated into this war by someone other than Russia.

Minutes of meditation and intuition made him accept this signal but he pushed it in the back of his mind, reminding himself that his first job was to make sure that nothing interfered with the implementation of the first phase of the ‘project’. So the war had to be stopped at any cost on the strategic drawing boards of the three countries and of the hidden hands that were pulling the invisible strings to bring destruction to his country.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Minutes of meditation and intuition made him accept this signal but he pushed it in the back of his mind, reminding himself that his first job was to make sure that nothing interfered with the implementation of the first phase of the ‘project’. So the war had to be stopped at any cost on the strategic drawing boards of the three countries and of the hidden hands that were pulling the invisible strings to bring destruction to his country

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Saleem was feeding the last piece of carefully torn sheets of his mind-maps to the paper shredder when he heard a car honk at the gate. He watched the paper being gorged by the machine and then looked at his wristwatch. It was quarter to nine. He switched off the bureau lamp and stood for a moment in the dark, letting his pupils get used to the dark and allowing his mind to be amused by the thoughts of the one who had arrived a quarter of an hour earlier than the agreed time. When his eyes could make out his path he walked towards the end of the dark room and went out, closing the door behind him.

As he reached the drawing room, he found to his amusement that the “professor sahib” was poised for another pacing session. “Ah, Saleem... I’m sorry I... I’m a little early,” muttered Professor Mohsin Hussein.

“Ah, professor sahib. Good to see you again. How are you?” Saleem smiled warmly at the nervous wreck and extended his hand.

“Uh, I am fine. I...How are you? It’s been a long time since the last meeting.” The professor held Saleem’s proffered hand in both of his hands, shaking it nervously and churning out wobbly words.

“I’m quite well, thank you. Yes, it was some time ago. How are things going at the university?” he asked and motioned the professor to sit on the sofa.

Saleem then seated himself on the single sofa seat next to him.

“Very well... The seminar went very well. My report is almost finished. I...uh... Saleem, what’s the reason for this meeting? The ‘project’ still goes ahead?” He finally regurgitated the monster that was chewing his guts since the first text message he had received that day. A grateful expression of relief began to spread on his face. Saleem smiled reassuringly, nodding to let the other know that the ‘project’ was still going ahead.

“Uh, Ahmed sahib asked for this emergency meeting. Let’s see what the issue is,” Saleem said in his calm and even voice, lowering it a couple of decibels.

“But you know. You always do.” Mohsin looked anxiously at Saleem’s composed face and found no signals on it to read.

“Let’s wait for others. Can I offer you anything, Professor sahib? It’s really good to see you again.”

“Let’s hope everything is all right. The ‘project’...” The professor stopped in mid sentence as the doorbell rang. He heard the gate open and waited anxiously. Two minutes passed at a painfully slow pace for the professor. As Zafar ushered in the bearded Baloch, he and Saleem stood up to welcome him.

“Sardar Jogaezaee. Welcome.” Saleem warmly extended his hand towards the burly Baloch chieftain.

“Saleem,” said the Baloch in his quiet voice. He held Saleem’s thin long hand in his own soft padded hand for a few moments before giving him a brief bear hug and then slowly walked towards the professor

Zafar showed in a new guest. This one was the Memon from Karachi. “Saleem bhai! Long time isn’t it? How is bhabi? Hospital business going good?” inquired Sultan Hussein in his rapid manner. He smiled broadly, rhythmically moving his small bespectacled head as he shook Saleem’s right hand with his right while holding his wrist with his left.

* * * * *

Soon, Quaid-i-Azam University’s professor of economics entered with his hands full, one carrying a laptop and another a thick dossier.

“Aha, our project manager! It’s been such a long time.” Professor Azeem Jatoi put down his burden on the second sofa and thrust his hand towards a delighted Saleem enthusiastically.

“Very good to see you in person again.” Saleem reciprocated.

Once again the doorbell rang and after a little wait they all got up to greet the general. He looked tired, lines of exhaustion and eddies of pain written distinctly on his face, his eyes lacked sparkle. “Saleem! How is our Project Manager?” he inquired and shook Saleem’s hand with the typical vigour of an army man. “Very well, general sahib. How are you, sir?” After greeting everyone, the general went to sit on the sofa facing his other three team members.

“Azeem, here already?” observed the general, his gaze catching the thick dossier and the laptop case. “Yes, he is in the washroom. Qahwa?” “Yes. What’s on the agenda?” The general settled deep in the sofa, pushing his back against the big cushion. “Ahmed sahib asked for this meeting. Let’s wait for him.” Saleem smiled his polite smile and after receiving the approving nod from him, he poured a cupful for the general.

“All right,” said the general and took a sip from his cup and crossed his legs. There was another ring of the doorbell. The oldest entered and all rose to receive him. Saleem stood up and went directly to him. “Saleem! We...” said Shabeer Ahmed in a wavering voice that had the sad ring of mourning it. The potency of fears in his voice and the mask of death on his face was enough to send a wave of his nightmares to the rest of his team members. They could see that his left arm hung from his side, shaking in harmony with his trembling voice. In that instance Saleem saw all of Shabeer’s demons leaping out of him. “Ahmed sahib. Happy to see you, sir,” Saleem held his cold hand and nodded at the latest member of his Project team, looking all the time in his haunted eyes to convey a soothing message. Shabeer Ahmed got the silent message and felt an instant inner peace. The inevitable qahwa was respectfully offered to the old guest.

“I think the colonel will be here soon. It is a bit difficult for him to move openly,” said Saleem and handed the hot teacup to Shabeer Ahmed. Once again an odd silence lingered in the room. Everyone was quietly sipping their energizing Peshawari qahwa and waiting. The silence broke when Azeem returned to the drawing room. “Ahmed sahib. How are you, sir? It’s a pleasure to see you again. It’s been a long time,” said Azeem and shook Shabeer’s hand, expressing the deference of a son. He had washed his face and hands, taken out his contact lenses and was wearing his normal glasses. He picked up a cup of tea and began to enjoy the sweet aromatic taste. “So we are waiting for the colonel. Tough for him with all those.” He left his sentence unfinished, took one more sip and stood quiet. Life had returned to the room and the Memon had picked up the vibes.

“Azeem bhai, how is your university business going?” asked the Karachi man. “Very well. A lot of work and the deadline for the ‘project’, you know. A lot of business!” Azeem almost chuckled. The final doorbell rang. Silence recaptured the drawing room and anticipation heightened. The tall, brown-eyed colonel Gul Yaar Khan entered the room with his broad, winning smile. Standing there at the door of the drawing room, his alert eyes surveyed the room like a wolf’s but found no foe, only his loyal comrades. To them he appeared to be what he had always seemed to be, unchanged. If there were apprehensions or concerns in his mind, his face didn’t betray them, letting the others see only a triumphant look. Only Saleem’s and the Baloch’s penetrating eyes saw what Gul concealed under his persona.

“Colonel!” Saleem stood up and went to welcome him. “Saleem!” said the colonel, beaming with an amused smile. He shook hands vigorously and then looked at the expectant faces of his mates. “Sorry friends. Long journey.” He raised both his hands, palms forward, in a gesture of helplessness, tilting his head to the right. After the apology, he went ahead saying salaam to everyone; beginning with the oldest one. “Ahmed sahib. Good to see you, sir. How are your little devils?” Gul shook hands gently, slightly bowing his body in a gesture of respect.

Saleem offered his last team member the same green tea and poured him a cupful. Having his charm spread all around, the colonel sat in the last of the remaining single sofa seat directly in front of Saleem. On Saleem’s left were seated the general, Shabeer Ahmed and Azeem. On his right were Sardar Jogaezaee, the nervous professor and the Memon businessman, Sultan. They were sitting around the large glass-topped saloon table. Pregnant silence prevailed in the room, broken by Zafar, the Pathan servant, who came with a wooden tray laid with a laptop computer and two large thermos flasks containing the Peshawari qahwa. After placing the tray on the table, he poured himself a cupful, grabbed the laptop and went to sit in a chair by Saleem’s side. From now on, it was going to be self-service.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Excerpted with permission from:
The Project
By Sher Shah
Sama Editorial & Publishing Services.
Tel: 021-5856028
Website: www.samabooks.com
Available with Liberty Books, Park Towers,
Clifton, Karachi.
Tel: 021-5832525 (Ext: 111)
Website: www.libertybooks.com
ISBN 969-8784-27-6
264pp. Rs475


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sher Shah has written several plays for television and stage and has contributed to different magazines. This is his first novel

Contributions
Privacy Policy
© DAWN Group of Newspapers, 2006