COLONEL YAQOOB of the Pakistan Army Medical Corps sat in his cool, white office. He held a pearl between thumb and slender index finger. East Pakistan was famous for its pearls, and this one had a beautiful golden colour. Pink pearls he held in disdain. They looked so common - so noveau riche! Colonel Yaqoob was a Kashmiri by birth, and his father had been a merchant and antique dealer in Srinagar, his uncle a jeweler in Amritsar. He had grown up amongst beautiful things. He knew a Tang from a Ming, so to speak.
He placed the pearl in a soft palm, and gazed at it fondly. It appears to be quite perfect, he mused, but if I put it under a microscope it may reveal flaws! Everything has a flaw-especially human beings! I have to put them under a microscope, so why do I hesitate with this pearl? He put it under a microscope. Yes, there was a blemish, a slight discoloration: a flaw! how tiresome! Would he ever find anything perfect? Now what about his servant, who was from Swat? He was almost perfect - almost, but not quite. He adored his servant from Swat. He called him:
"Saleem!"
Instantly a young man appeared. He was tall and slim, and very handsome. His face was long, his chin pointed. His complexion was light and golden, like the pearl. He had green, seductive eyes, with heavy brown lashes. The Colonel loved to tease him. Yes, teasing Saleem was something the Colonel dearly loved.
"Look at this," he said, handing the pearl to the youth. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? It's even more beautiful than you are!"
Was this a strange way to talk to one's servant? Not at all. Besides, Saleem was used to his master's graceful jokes. He had not been batman for more than a day, before he realised that the Colonel was an odd man, and very, very lovable - and loving.
"You like it? you may keep it. Beauty and beauty should make good companions. But do not lose it. And do not give it away. Now go and see if they have found a good fish for our lunch. Have it cooked slowly in mustard oil, with coconut powder, and tamarind, and bay leaves, and cinnamon. Do not call me until its's ready."
The Colonel was busy this morning, with a list of sudden casualties. The men who usually passed under his care suffered from two common complaints: dysentery or gonorrhoea. The first was easy for him to understand: strange food and strange water. The second puzzled him somewhat. The whores of the town were said to have run away to the villages. Who then were infecting these men? Surely not the local boys? Or had some of the whores perhaps returned? He would have to ask Intelligence for a report.
The sudden casualties were the result of a troop train blown up by a mine. Brigadier Maqbool was furious. Fifty local men had been shot in retaliation. What good would that do? Thank God he was well-stocked with penicillin. What with gangarene and gonorrhoea......
The telephone rang.
"Maqbool here. What about those nurses?"
"Believe it or not, we have recruited six capable girls. I have signed them on myself. They're from good town families, smart and intelligent. I tell you these Bengalees are far from useless. Just give them a little encouragement, a little show of appreciation, and they'll do anything you ask."
"Well, I'm glad you're so pleased with them. How many of yesterday's men are on the danger list? Fifteen? Good God? We'll have to double up and down the line, checking all through the night. The General's very worried. Come over for some bridge tonight. Goodbye."
The Colonel looked at his list again, and sighed. Then he went off to inspect the wards.
* * * * *
Saleem wrapped the golden pearl in a piece of cottonwood, and hid it under some shirts in a tin trunk. He studied his handsome face in a small looking-glass on the wall. Beauty and beauty make good companions indeed!
That evening he went to a sing-song, his master having gone off to play bridge. Those bridge sessions went on until late at night, and the Colonel always made his own way to bed, once everything in the room had been put in order: drinking water, bottle of brandy, mosquito-coil, transistor radio.
The hospital orderlies and a number of jawans had formed a kind of 'club', where they sometimes met, and pooled their resources for an evening of fun. They sang songs in Urdu, Pushto and Punjabi, or played gramophone records, or persuaded an old track-driver to perform on his mouth-organ. A bottle or two of the local liquor usually made the rounds, passed by eager hands. The officers pretended not to know about all this. Morale had to be kept high.
Saleem arrived a little late, and found the party in full swing.
"Ah, here is the beauty of Swat! Pass him the bottle. We want him to dance tonight!"
Now Saleem rarely drank, but he was in a gay mood, and had decided to let himself go a bit. He took a long draw at the bottle, and then another.
* * * * *
The Colonel was getting bad cards, and constantly over-bidding his hand. "Two down," he snapped. "I could have made it. Sorry, partner."
"By the way Yaqoob," the Brigadier asked, "do you happen to know a Dr Rahim, who owns the Uttara Pharmacy?"
"Yes." the Colonel replied, arranging another poor hand. "He has come to see me a few times." He was staring into a microscope. "Intelligent man, experienced, well-liked. But bad teeth and an offensive breath. Wants to write a thesis on microbiology."
"Has he ever discussed ....politics?" the Brigadier probed.
"No. He said his brother handles that department. A school teacher of sorts I believe. No bid."
"One Heart. The brother's name is Ziauddin, alias Bhola mia - what odd names these devils have - and he has approached us for a grant for his school. What did you say partner? One Spade? Well, Two Hearts. The manner in which he discussed the grant was most suggestive."
The Brigadier turned to Major Sadiq who sat on his left.
"Ask your Intelligence people whether this Bhola Mia would be a security risk should we decide to use him to obtain information. The manner in which.... was most suggestive.... All right - Four Hearts!"
The game went on and by and by the Colonel's cards improved.
* * * * *
"Bravo Saleem! Bravo! What a beauty you are!" They all said in unison.
The old truck-driver was beside himself with enthusiasm. "Pass him the bottle," he cried. "Drink O beautiful One of the Mountains! If the intoxication of this liquor wears off, your eyes shall intoxicate us all over again. And your lips. And your hips. And your...." he trailed off.
One of the educated orderlies, who had hardly taken his eyes off Saleem's undulating hips all through the dance, demanded silence, and recited, a little imperfectly, but with great feeling, a verse by Ghalib*:
Cup Bearer pour on and on,
Let me drink without counting the goblets,
As you sweetly and gracefully pour.
Which is the real sin: to drink, or to give drink?
Pour on, the real sin is to regain consciousness,
After drinking
.
"Bravo! Bravo!" they all cried, in mock appreciation. They had heard this far too often.
Saleem sat down and leaned back on a large cushion, flushed with pleasure, the effect of the liquor, and the effort of dancing.
"O Saleem," drooled the orderly, "O beloved! Is there any more beautiful than thou? Thou art the jewel of this and all nights...." The poor fellow was soaring on the wings of liquor and poesy!
"Yes," Saleem said, "there is one more beautiful than I. Wait, I shall show you!" And he rose unsteadily to his feet and left the room. Presently he returned, and found a circle of expectant faces. His companions were mystified. Saleem was triumphant.
"Behold beauty!" he exclaimed, the golden pearl between thumb and index finger. It passed rapidly from hand to hand, as the liquor bottle had, and all expressed suitable astonishment at its undoubted beauty. But when Saleem asked for it back, none of his companions would produce it. They each claimed to have passed it on to another.
Saleem's intoxication began to wane. He fearfully imagined the Colonel asking: "Let me have a look at your pearl, Saleem." He told them to stop fooling and return the gem. They continued to shake their heads in drunken bewilderment. Saleem's intoxication evaporated. He was really angry now. He rushed from the room and returned shortly with a light machine-gun, which he pointed threateningly at the group. Arms were raised in feigned alarm.
"Don't shoot", one implored. "Give us another dance instead, and the pearl shall reappear, and roll towards your beautiful dancing feet!"
"You damned idiots! You drunken swine! You children of hell! I'll teach you to fool with me and the Colonel," Saleem screamed at the startled men. His finger tightened on the trigger.
* * * * *
Colonel Yaqoob dropped an alka-seltzer tablet in a glass of water, and watched it dissolve. Then he looked at his desk diary. It read:
10 am Visit T.B. Clinic with Dr Rahim.
01 pm Lunch at Brigade Mess.
03 pm Parade Ground. Saleem's execution.
"Poor fellow," the Colonel mused aloud "I hope they give him a good lunch. He really enjoyed his food. Ah well! Pearls bring bad luck I was always told."
* A great Urdu poet, who also wrote in Persian. He spent his life mainly in Imperial Delhi, during the XIXth century.
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