The New Nation - Internet Edition

Anup Saha

Ahmed Rafique, a senior bank officer, was an unruffled and elegantly looking man of fifty; every body of the office knew him a man of high profile and soft natured. He never, no body saw him, disgruntled over any matter, he is bright and reticent. He, though, deals money always but temptation of money never tempted him; he was working in a bank for more than twenty years.

It was Sunday and he was in the office after weekly holidays. A black jeep, at that time, making with a rolling sound in a dull speed stopped on the front gate of the bank and three cops, seen by the awaited people at the courtyard with curiosity, came off the black van and walk down the gate to arrive at Ahmed Rafique's room in a snails pace. The cops stammered and peered into Ahmed Riafique's room and seeing him alone in the office, the leader of the three-member team begged his permission:

"May we come in, Sir?"

The man in the office gently raised his head and ran his eyes inquisitively. Seeing the cops on the threshold of the room, he approved of the prayer.

"Yes, come in."

With sluggishness the police officer asked,

"Are you Mr. Ahmed Rafique?" The police officer tried to confirm his identity.

"Yes. I'm Ahmed Rafique."

The police officer hesitated but recovered him quickly. In blandishment, he told,

"We are very sorry that we have a warrant and you have to come with us to the police station."

"Warrant in my name!" Ahmed Rafique made his burrow wide and asked, "Where is the paper?"

The police officer took the paper sheepishly out of the file and lay down on the table. With excitement, Ahmed Rafique scrutinized the paper and squinted and told the police officer,

"I want time. I need to hand over my charges to my fellow colleagues."

Ahmed Rafique informed, finding no ways, his superiors in details and lay down the warrant on the table to make it public. Fellow collogues were dumfounded - a warrant had been issued in his name! There were no reasons clearly written on the paper but a clause of special act in scripted on the paper. The people, who knew him from a long time, had not seen him involved with illegal activities or any misdeeds. Some one tried to protest it. To make the situation favorable, the police officer told in benign,

"I think you will not hamper my work - let me do my duty - if you have anything to say, please say it in the court."

Members of the bank, who were in rage, kept shut as it involved an administrative work and feared not to advance to jeopardize the situation.

Before leaving of the bank, Ahmed Rafique, telephoned his wife police was taking him to the police station on a special act, he was now on arrest.

He did not wait much long, being consulted with the high officials of the principal office, handed over his charges to his junior officer, readily he rode on the police van heighten his moral power. The van drove after closing the door out making a crackling sound at its hinges. When the van arrived at the station, the armored police cared him descend leaving any thought of worse happening. They took him to the Officer-in-Charge's room in protection.

The officer-in-Charge, after his arrival at the police station, told, "I know you are a high official and working with reputation for a long time. But I have no alternative as I'm involved with the administrative works."

In grave Ahmed Rafique wanted to know, "What is my fault?"

"You are an accused of a murder case."

"I'm an accused of a murder case!"

"Yes. The suspicion is made so far."

"Who do I kill?" the man wanted to know in a deadly suspense. "Who is the complaint?

"Suspicion informs you have killed the most elderly man of your ward, Bashir Khan." The police officer told in mocking. "And the complaint is his wife Rebeya Khatun."

"Why do I kill?"

"Why do you kill or have killed is your personal and the court is the final and legal institution to prove that. Even then, so far I guess, according to the accusation, you have choked the childless Bashir Khan to grab his property illegally and his wife witnessed you when you flee away horrifyingly."

"Saw me fleeing away horrifyingly?" The Banker burst out in fury.

"According to complain of the accuser," he replied.

"How do you understand that I'm the killer?" The man tried to get on to his intuition.

"I can't say it, Sir - court can say it. But through my long age and experience I've seen the mostly dignified and honored man of the society looking like Gods are involved with such heinous activities that the out side people couldn't think."

"The case reminds me of the criminology. One thing more, we have arrested you by the order of the higher authority and you have to stay here."

"But you know I'm the key man of the bank and without me bank can't run - people will suffer from my absence."

"I know but I've nothing to do. You have to stay here unless the higher authority orders otherwise."

"What shall I do?"

"You will sit here." The Officer-in-Charge took a breath for a short time and then told, "Do you smoke?"

"My habit was skillful in my student life and now it has changed."

"Well, then practice the habit again."

The Officer-in-Charge put forwarded the packet of Benson and Hedges to Ahmed Rafique. When he lighted on the cigarette and inhaled the fume, telephone of the OC's table began to ring. The Officer-in-Charge took up the receiver, and with a deep mood he began to talk with the voice of the other part and soon his appearance changed - tone of the voice lowered and loosened - it became a face of a hamback. He answered in humble manner,

"Sir, I'm the OC of the police station."

"What happened to my order that I gave you?" the voice of the other part was much strong, weighted and authoritative.

"I've arrested him. He is now in front of my table."

"Put him under the custody until I order you otherwise."

"Yes Sir, don't worry sir." Iqbal Ahmed put down his receiver on the table. He looked at Ahmed Rafique with a black face, and told in grave:

"Can you assume something from our talking?"

"No. It gives me an idea that you have talked with someone."

"It is not someone; it is the Superintendent of Police. He was inquiring about you - weather I have arrested you or not."

"What did your Superintendent say?" Insipidly he told the police officer.

"He says you are a delinquent." The Officer told in a domineering voice adding something to demoralizing him. "You are a criminal under a good face and order you to hang about here."

Ahmed Rafique did not bear such brawls - every one takes him dearly - his dealings are unusual, ruthless and sullen. Dignity and liberty of a man are the most import things of human lives that make a man free and courageous but he has to insinuate here in every minute; inward tension was growing - sweat had browsed on her face.

Rafique's home had been tumultuous. Saila, his wife had harassed her father's house. They were involved with politics - they linked with the influential people. In somber and crying face, Saila told her brother,

"Harun, police has arrested your brother-in-law in this t" She could not finish her sentence; she choked up and sobbed on the telephone. She sneezed and then began to talk in half whispering. "Police had taken him away to the police station from the bank."

Harun on the other hand solaced her.

"When the police arrested him from the bank?

"In this morning," Then she reeled off about her husband,

"Your brother-in-law is a chicken hearted - he doesn't like any quandary, yet complexity have hanged on him. Can't you interfere into the problem?" When she ended, she cried out fully. Weighing up the situation, younger brother replied,

"You fall me into a trouble. I do not have any time, days are not very well, and I am in pressure. What made Ahmed Bhai to wrangle in this old age? Any way, don't worry about this - Imran Bhai knows the police very well but he is not here now."

"Well Mr. Ahmed," suddenly spoke the police officer out. "How many years you are working in this bank?"

"Near about twenty years."

"How many children do you have?"

"Two. Elder one is doing his honors in a university and the younger daughter is in the intermediate."

"What does your wife do?"

"She is a housewife and teaches in a school once."

The phone rang again. The police Officer held up the receiver. A voice was herd in ether.

"Mr. Iqbal, can you describe the man who you held?"

"What it meant?"

"Don't you understand description? Description meant how he looks, what is his height, whether he has any mustache, etc., etc., and etc."

"Description of his semblances? Now it becomes clear sir. You need not to tell anything more. Please write down Sir t the man is tall and elegantly looking t no mustache t fairly combed hairt a white shirt on a navy blue pant."

"What is his age?"

"Near about fifty."

"All right then. I will gather information as required."

The Officer turned to him again. He stroked his cigarette and asked,

"When did you join in the service, Mr. Ahmed?"

"In March, 1980."

"What was your subject of study?"

"English Language and Literature."

"English languare and literature! How did you come to the applied economics?"

"Now the bank employees, who are working in the banks, are multi disciplinary. They have studied literature, commerce, science - even engineering also." "Doesn't it make conflictions?"

"Initially there were problems - now there weren't any. Bank deals with accounts - once you learn it - go on continuously; the most important thing in banking needed is the intuition."

"Have you fallen in love ever?"

Ahmed halted for a few seconds. This is the new question to him. He could not understand what he would say.

"No. When I was a college student, a fair looking girl lived in front of our house; she tried to call me in reckoning. I didn't respond her."

"Why didn't you respond her?"

"Love doesn't arouse in me then. I was careful about my carrier." "There are people who make love and builds up their carrier. Love is a phenomenon where one can influence other. To win other, one can understand the strategies he needs to adopt. To win the heart of one is more than winning of a war. Assume you are a politician and you want win in the election. To win in the election you have to understand what the people want and you have to be a psychologist. The customer relationship of a bank is more or less the same. It is very hard to understand when say you have a successful banker without making any love."

They were silent - no one talks anything. Ahmed Rifique seems exhausted. One thought hoarsely thudded on him he is a convict. He tried to find out whether there is any man named Bashir Khan in his locality, as a new settler to this ward he did not know every one. He has seen behind their house an old man live there but he could not make sure that the old man is the Bashir Shahib. He searched for the other man who could be.

The Officer asked him, "Do you take bribe?" The banker returned to her present. His nose reddened and sweats were on the forehead. He controlled his emotion and told,

"No. I do not take bribe. I try to control myself as much I can. Clients always offer me for their works but I refuse them to take. I always try to be innocent."

"There are so many people who show them innocent outwardly but takes bribe secretly. I cannot run even for a day without bribe. Why should not I take money as I work for them? Do you know how much money I have to give my higher authority for my posting?"

"No, I don't know."

"I have given five lakhs. It was like a bid, who can give more. Some one raised up to four lakh fifty thousand; I bought the position by five lakhs. Now my aim is to recover the money I spent and to save money for the uncertain future so I that I do not fall into trouble."

"I didn't pay anything for my posting. I am not tempted for the post I am holding now. The authority has bestowed the position honoring me."

"You are fortunate - you didn't pay. But do you know how much money transects inwardly in your bank?"

"No. I don't know that and don't want to involve with it."

The Officer in Charge jumped up looking at the clock hanged against the wall. The clock strikes 3.30 pm! We did not take lunch! Without passing any time, he told rightly, "I want to have my lunch, will you take lunch with me?" Without giving him the time, he gave a note of five hundred to a cop to bring lunch for them.

At that time, Saila and his son and daughter entered the Officer's room in haste. She cried out loudly. The Officer-in-Chare kept his patience normal asked them, "Who are you?"

The banker understood the situation and stood up. He told, "This is my wife Saila and he is son Partha and my daughter Ananya. Harun is my brother-in-law." The OC gave Harun a mouthful laugh, as he knows him previously. Harun is a member of a political party. Harshly Saila wanted to know, "Why did you arrest my husband? The son and daughter also looked at him pryingly. After their introduction, the Officer-in-Charge requested them to sit in the last row of the chairs. Then with weight, he exposed the case,

"The reason we arrested your husband is his involvement with a murder case. He has killed an elderly person to grab his property illegally. He is concerned with a criminal offence."

Everybody stopped hearing his involvement with a murder case. Saila is not a woman of simple nature - she wanted to find out the burrow. Consuming the shock and anguish, she tried to retain her strength - quickly she revolted.

"My husband can't do this. I know him for last twenty years. This is a false case and without any truth."

The moment Saila was describing her reactions; the cop entered the room with the packets of lunch. He returned the money left. The OC told to Saila reluctantly,

"The work of the police is not to try but made arrangement to appear people for trial. We have brought him for trial. If you have anything to say please say in the court."

With a rage, Saila went away with her son and daughter from the room. Harun waited for a while. Before his departure, OC gave him a mouthful laugh and told him surly,

"We will look at the matter. You can go without any worry."

Ahmed Rafique and Iqbal Ahmed lunched taking a long time. They did not discuss any thing. After lunch, OC put forward the packet to Ahmed Rafique and lit one. He inhaled smoke and brought out the fume through nose. Both of them were silent, did not talk. Rigidness was working. The burned ash of the cigarette was hanging down, he then returned,

"Have you written any piece of poetry or any other creative writing?"

Ahmed Rafique was hesitating, whether he would answer it or not. Without any interest he told,

"Now and then."

"It meant you write."

"It is not regularly, in my student life I write poetries that pursues up still today."

"When do you write?"

"It has no fixed time - it can be in home - it can be in the banks. I have founded out the time as I am working for a long time."

"It means you are a poet. It encourages me to ask you a question when every body engaged with an imbecile and goods of earthly pleasures, why do you opt for heavenly things like poetries. You are quite interesting! Why do you compose poetries - do you get money?"

Ahmed Rafique had no interest in it. The Officer asked all such questions detaining him in the police station - he felt an upsurge within him - a gush leads him to revolt. He burst out against the control,

"I write poetries for me and express anguish and excitement my conscience encountered every moment. This writing intended not to impress someone and demonstrate inward strength. I write to purify my soul. Through my writing, I try to portray time and people struggled for ages, settled crossing the earth erosion of the river, perpetuated their toil and fatigue through the stroke of chisels, told our culture, life, and created way for their descendants. I write for the people put footprints for the first time saving them from the wild beasts and created ground for us. I am the descendant of them and their blood is flowing within me. If I do not write for them, nobody will write for us. It is a communication - somebody created the way for us and we will create the way for someone - this is the universality and truth. This classic journey flowing inwardly, I express it calling poetries outwardly."

Ahmed Rafique was swelling up and down when he stopped his feeling against the inhumanity showed towards a man. All his body became wet and sweat was dropping. The bell of the station pounded 11.30 pm then. There was no commotion - the city became quieter. The phone rang up again - an ethereal voice heard from the other side. The SP was talking to the Officer- in-Charge.

"The man you arrested in the morning where is he?

"He is in front of me."

"Make him free. The man we are looking for has been identified."

The last ethereal voice whispered to Ahmmed Rafique's ear. Ahmed Rafigue got up from the chair and went out of the room. No man was there on the street, some stray dogs were barking in a distant place and the shunting sound of the railway compartments came floating on the air. He down steered the police station and began to walk down in the silent road. A moon was then blazing with dampness above the sky.