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''Talk to me, Naz!" Jaida said. "Think carefully about me. How long will you remain imprisoned like this? How long will I even live? I stand every moment on the gallows, not knowing when I'll be hanged, not knowing when I'll be killed. I am a criminal. My friends and my enemies are both criminals and the police. Any time I could be murdered. If the police feel the need, they'll shoot me, and you'll read in the newspaper that the notorious thug Jaida was killed in a police encounter.
You should focus on making your own path. If you earn a living, it will be only in my world. You will make a name only in my world. What the so-called civilized society calls infamy, we call honor. If you return there, you'll be branded as dishonored. Think about it—think seriously!"
Jaida slowly pulled his hand out of Naz's and walked out of the room.
He entered another room and said to Munna, Teepo, and Badal, "No need to keep guard anymore. Tell me, have the boys come?"
"Yes! They're sitting outside," Badal replied.
In a corner of the courtyard, three boys of twelve or thirteen were sitting, playing cards. Jaida stepped into the courtyard and called them. The three ran to him.
"Listen carefully," Jaida said to them. "There is money in one of the pockets of my trousers. Stand aside, watch me, and tell me which pocket it's in."
He walked forward, pulled a handkerchief from his right pocket, wiped his sweat, and put it back in. A little ahead, he turned back, once again pulled the handkerchief out, spread it over his face, and put it back into the same pocket.
"You tell me," he asked one of the boys.
"In the right pocket," the boy answered hesitantly.
When Jaida asked the other two, both said the left pocket.
He called the first boy close and in a stern voice asked, "Why did you say the right pocket? I gave such a clear signal. Why did you point to the wrong one? Did you forget?"
Fear spread over the boy's face. A stick leaned against the wall; Jaida picked it up and struck the boy two or three times. The boy cried out in pain.
"How did you know it was the left pocket?" Jaida asked the others.
One boy, in the tone of a lesson, replied, "The pocket from which the handkerchief is taken out again and again never contains cash. It might have coins, but not notes. Your handkerchief was in the right pocket, so the cash had to be in the left."
"Understand?" Jaida slapped the first boy across the face. "Would your father keep notes in the same pocket as his handkerchief? People with sense don't do that. Notes could fall out when you take the cloth out. We pick pockets of such smart ones who think of every little detail. Now tell me, which one of you will take notes from my pockets?"
One boy pulled the other two aside, whispered something to them, then left them and stood behind Jaida.
"Master!" the boy said. "You're going to Footpath. You're my mark. Walk ahead."
Jaida walked forward, and the boy followed closely. The other two rushed toward Jaida from the front and 'accidentally' bumped into him. One fell down.
The other fell naturally on top of him. Jaida stumbled so hard he had to put his hands on the ground. The collision had no hint of acting or fakery. Even Jaida, a master himself, thought it was a real accident. He grew angry.
As he was steadying himself, the boy on the ground placed his hands just behind Jaida's trouser pockets, pretending to plead: "Master! It was just an accident, don't be angry."
The boy on top of him also distracted Jaida, while the one walking behind slipped past.
When they separated, Jaida asked angrily, "Why haven't you taken out the note yet?"
"Here it is, Master!" one boy showed a five-rupee note.
Jaida put his hand into his left pocket—the note was gone. From his mouth came an involuntary, "Well done!"
"Teepo," Jaida turned to him, "did you explain all this to them yesterday?"
"Yes, explained everything clearly," Teepo replied.
"Why, you—" Jaida asked the boy he had beaten, "How many pins does a lock have?"
"Four pins. A lock can be opened with a single straight pick," the boy replied confidently.
"Which locks can be opened with a straight pick?" Jaida asked.
"This part I didn't explain," Teepo interrupted.
"How many ready boys do we have?" Jaida asked.
"Ten," Badal replied.
"Thirteen including these three," Munna corrected. "They're ready too—only need lessons in locks. They already know pocket-picking."
"Four are in jail," Teepo added.
"Didn't you bail out Deh?" Jaida asked.
"Yes, I did," Teepo said.
"There are two more," Badal added. "I keep visiting them, giving them batteries, cigarettes, soap, etc."
"Take care of them," Jaida instructed. "They shouldn't suffer." Then, turning to the boys, he tossed them the same five-rupee note they had lifted. "Here—go watch a movie, eat and drink."
The boys laughed and ran out.
Jaida moved toward another room and said, "Open it."
Munna stepped forward and opened the door. Jaida entered.
The room looked like a vast cave ruled by spiders, their webs tangled with trapped spirits. Dark stains of dripping water ran down the walls, adding to the terror of the room. There was no window—only a skylight, blocked by webs. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like torn rags. The floor was raw and uneven, bulging in places, hollow in others, filled with stagnant water. The stench was suffocating.
The faint light entering from the door seemed to get tangled in the webs and die out.
Against the far wall sat a man. His hands were tied behind him. His hair was messy and dust-covered. His face looked like a corpse pulled out from rubble. His eyes half-shut, sunken deep into his skull. Eyelids swollen, cheeks hollow, mouth open, lips dry and cracked like barren earth. He sat not like he was sitting, but like he had been thrown there.
When Jaida entered, the corpse's eyelids fluttered, but lacked the strength to rise. His lips trembled as if asking for water.
"Ibn!" Jaida called as he came closer.
It was Ibn—the approver, the state witness. He barely nodded, his head knocking against the wall.
Jaida grabbed his hair and shook him. Pain forced his eyes open and a stifled cry escaped, smothered instantly by the webs. Jaida dragged him up by the hair.
"Who was the informer?" Jaida asked, commanding but quiet.
Ibn shook his head in denial.
"Who was the informer?" Jaida asked louder.
"Don't know…" came the dead voice.
"Who betrayed us?" Jaida asked, grinding his teeth, giving his hair another jerk. Ibn's mouth fell open, his teeth rattled. He had no strength to speak, only managed a broken whisper:
"Master… mercy!"
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To be continue...