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Aslam had already begun to grow weary of Naz and was now in search of another girl whom he could exploit and consume. But Naz had clung to him desperately. Aslam had also fallen into debt; his prestige was crumbling. For him, Naz had become an expensive bargain. To maintain his position in society, he needed money.
Creditors had started to hound him. And one evening, Naz sat with Aslam in the second-class compartment of the Karachi-bound Express train. Amid the noisy clatter of the carriage, she was dreaming of becoming a heroine. Aslam had taken a month's leave from the office, while Naz had slipped out of her house after stealing two thousand rupees.
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Chapter:3
Karich
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Upon reaching Karachi, they checked into a middle-class hotel.
Jaida's market thrived on men like Aslam and women like Naz, and on such so-called romances. In Karachi's restless days and nights, amid the twisted alleyways and damp air, in the chaos and rush of the crowds, and in the bustle where stolen buses and buffaloes from distant worlds seemed to disappear, Naz—a slim and fragile girl—was lost.
The wrinkled face of the hotel's old manager concealed countless stories of similar Aslams and Nazes. Such couples had been coming and going for years. His dim, squinting eyes could guess in a single glance who they were, where they had come from, and where they would end up. He had seen many Aslams abandon their Nazes and vanish into Karachi. Though he bowed slightly before every guest, in front of couples like Aslam and Naz he bent so low that his chin nearly touched the counter. With a peculiar smile and a subtle flicker of his eyes, the waiters understood that this couple was to be given special attention.
He personally escorted Aslam and Naz to their room, his gaze lingering on Naz. He listened less to Aslam's words and more to the scent of their affairs.
Within twenty days, Naz began to wander in the stench of those very affairs. The money she had stolen from home and the little jewelry she owned were now gone. Even then, she could not realize that Aslam wanted her not for herself but for her money. In fact, it was not she who had spent as much as Aslam had squandered.
Now frustrated, Naz would question him morning and evening: Where is the studio? Where is the film? Where is the script? But she did not know that she had already become the heroine of a filmic drama, and the drama was reaching its climax.
If Aslam had wanted, he could have quietly abandoned her and fled, but he wished to extract even her last worth—and also cover the hotel bill.
At last came the night when Naz sat before the mirror in the hotel room, reviewing her makeup and weaving dreams around her alluring, sin-inviting body. Aslam had steadied her sinking boat. That evening he had told her:
"Naz, tonight get fully dressed and ready. I am bringing the director with me. You know I am the producer investing the money, but the choice of heroine lies with the director. He won't reject what I favor, but still, it's better that he sees you himself. I am spending lakhs on this film."
And there she sat before the mirror, arranging the carved locks falling on her forehead, lost in Aslam's lush promises.Naz was still lost in her thoughts when Aslam entered the room.
"Naz, meet him—this is our director, Mr. T.H. Zaidi."
She sprang up cheerfully, giving her body a tempting curve, and adorned her lips with the smile she had long practiced on brothers' friends, sisters-in-law, and acquaintances. Then, placing her hand lightly on her forehead, she greeted him.
"Hello, Miss Naz," the director said, extending his hand. Naz shook it warmly. He pressed her soft hand slightly, fixed a deep gaze on her face, calculated her years, examined the glow and allure of the strands of hair scattered on her forehead, and assessed her worth.
"And Mr. Zaidi," Aslam continued, "no matter what it takes—even if you have to work day and night—you must prepare her for the heroine's role. I have brought her from far away. Who better than Miss Naz to perform such a difficult role?"
Zaidi, as he sat down, replied, "I will prepare her very soon. You should go tonight or tomorrow morning to Lahore and bring the music director with you. He will not come unless called in person. The set is already ready. Miss Naz, from now on you will live in your own bungalow near the studio."
"They have vacated a very beautiful bungalow for you," Aslam added. "You should go with them right away. I will settle the hotel bill and then head to Lahore to bring the director."
Thus, in Karachi's labyrinth, yet another young and beautiful girl lost her way.
Two days earlier, Aslam had already grown tired of Naz and had begun trying to sell her off. He was an old player, well acquainted with the dark alleys of Karachi. He found Jaida's associate, Tipu, who, upon seeing Naz, spoke to Jaida and arranged a meeting between him and Aslam.
Jaida was a master, a figure from the royal family of the underworld. He immediately realized that Aslam was not truly of his world. Aslam belonged to that so-called civilized society where sins and crimes occurred, but no one was labeled a criminal. There, men and women engaged in illicit affairs were not called immoral—they were called "social." But people like Jaida, Tipu, Badal, and prisoners were called criminals—not men like Aslam.
Jaida began to entangle Aslam in his words, and soon decided to snatch Naz away without paying a single penny. He said things that frightened Aslam—such as threatening to hand him over to the police.
Clutching Jaida's hand, Aslam began to weep. He and Jaida sat until late night on Clifton's seashore, with Aslam recounting Naz's entire story. But Aslam was not weeping for Naz, nor was he crying for himself. Weeping was part of his trade, one he had mastered well. He could conjure a sweet smile on his lips, fill his eyes with tears, and wear the right expression on his face as needed. Jaida picked pockets with sleight of hand, but Aslam emptied his victims' pockets with smiles and tears.
In just a few exchanges, Jaida had seen through Aslam's act. Yet Aslam continued—pretending, choking his voice, and eventually softening even a stone-hearted man like Jaida.
"Look, man," Jaida finally said, "if I want, I could dump your body in this sea and take the girl away from the hotel. But since you've told me everything truthfully, I'll give you five hundred rupees. You have confessed your sins. I myself am a great sinner, but I despise every sinner who hides behind the cloak of virtue and respectability. So, let's fix the deal at five hundred—agreed?"
Turning his tears into a smile, Aslam replied, "Five hundred, but at least cover the hotel bill too. It must be around seven hundred."
Jaida furrowed his brow, thought for a moment, and said, "Agreed."
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To be continue