A Broken Man

Chapter 1

Shahzad came down the stairs soft-footedly, and stopped at the last step. He looked around as if he were trying to feel that atmosphere. His mother was sitting on the bed, reciting the Quran. On her fragile body she wore a white Kameez and Shalwar1, a white stole, and over that a white shawl, as it was winter and she caught cold easily. Covering her eyes were thick-lensed glasses. In front of her she held the Quran, supported firmly by a pillow. She swayed gently while she recited. In her right hand she held a glass of water into which she blew softly at the end of each rakooh. Shahzad disliked that particular act very much. He thought that his mother was an old-fashioned woman who believed that all the problems of the world, whether individual or collective, economical or political, had their solution in the Quran. She used to blow on the water every day with a belief that if Shahzad were to drink the water each day faithfully for forty days, it would change his fortunes – he would not only get a job but also find his luck turned for the better. Every evening, his mother would come to his bedside to put the water on the table. In the beginning Shahzad used to quarrel and sent it back, but his friend Saleem convinced him that his mother, however simple she appeared, had a warm and caring heart and she only wished the best for him. It was then that he stopped sending the glass back. Besides, he was fed up with the daily unpleasantly that this gesture created between him and his mother. He felt that putting up with an odd ritual while living under the same roof as his parents, was a small prize to pay; that glass of water was one of those things he learned to tolerate without complaint. Although Shahzad would no longer return the glass to his mother, he did not drink it either; instead he secretly threw it away or mixed it with liquor and then drank it.

        But at that instant he sat on the step and waited for the moment when his mother would finish her recitation and go to the bathroom to get washed so that he could obtain the key which lay under her pillow. He wanted to help his friend Rachel, who at that moment was in economical crisis.

        Shahzad had known Rachel for the past five years. Actually he knew many women in Toronto, but Rachel was the only one with whom he was not sexually intimate. Rachel was short in height and rather broad-framed. She had a good heart, but she was not particularly attractive. A long time ago they were both involved in cocaine trafficking, and it had been their principle that they would not mix business with pleasure; men and women who bought and sold cocaine did not sleep with one another. Rachel and Shahzad had been partners for a year. Then Rachel got pregnant and left the business; yet, their friendship was not marred by her departure, rather the passage of time had given it strength.

        Rachel had to face many hardships as a young single mother. Someone reported her behaviours and methods of mothering to the Children’s Aid Society, who took her son David away from her, declaring her an unfit mother. Rachel had been wanting to get her child back permanently for a long time, but her lack of essentials in daily life and joblessness did not go in her favour. The Children’s Aid Society made the stipulation that she must live at the same residence for six months and keep a job. If she did not suffer economical distress then they would give the child back to her. Rachel had currently lived at one address for three months but now she did not have the money for this month’s rent. She told Shahzad over the phone that she had spent the month’s rent on her sick mother and a gift for David’s birthday, and that if she did not come up with the money within two days then she would be evicted.

        Shahzad’s mother closed the Quran and went into the bathroom. Shahzad waited until he could hear the shower running, then he quietly took the key from under her pillow, went to the basement, and opened the metal trunk that they had brought with them ten years ago. In this trunk his mother kept all the cash and gold jewelry. As soon as Shahzad opened the trunk he saw ten one hundred dollar bills laying on top of the clothes. He took only three, carefully tried to shut the trunk as quietly as he could, but that required quite a bit of effort because his mother always over-paced the trunk with clothes. He returned the key to its shelter and left the house.

        Once out of his house, he hurriedly walked towards the bus stop. He had not gone very far when he realized that he has forgotten his hat and gloves at home. For a few seconds he slowed down and pondered whether he should go back home or not. The danger in returning home was that if his mother came out of the bathroom, his plan would be foiled; on the other hand, if he did not return then he was bound to face the chill. He had been living in Canada for the last ten years but had not become accustomed to the winters here. He often did not remember his winter socks, coat, hat or gloves. Actually, his natural laziness had not been of much help in this matter. Shahzad thinking that his mother spent quite a bit of time in the shower returned home, took the necessary items form his room and headed out once more.

        He called Rachel from the subway station and arranged to meet her downtown at a bar called Scandals, their usual meeting place.

        Shahzad sat in the subway and began reading Divan-e-Ghalib. He had specially procured a copy of the Divan from Lahore, and always kept it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He liked travelling on the subway. He believed that Toronto’s subway system was the best in North America, because it was both clean and safe. He had traveled a couple of times in New York and Chicago subways and had suffered by their filth and hoodlums. When he opened the Divan he saw the stanza –

        A thousand and one desires,

            And every one of them devastating!

        How many wishes did I not have!

            Yet, still too few.

        It was pitch black all around. Shahzad blinked several times but could not see a thing. He tried to get up but weakness gripped his feet and his head hit the pillow. When he attempted to move his hands he realized that they were tired to the bed. Slowly he began to see a little bit in the dark. On both sides of the bed hung a bottle. It looked as if one of them contained glucose and the other blood. He fainted again.

        When he focused his eyes again he saw the signs of morning. All around him silence cast its dark shadow. He tried to provoke some thought from his mind, and gradually in the ocean of languor a few islands of recollection began to emerge. A few names and some thoughts started to near him randomly:  Christine, Niagara Falls, Rachel, Uncle Rasheed, Mom. These names had only taken a few steps when they began to intermingle with each other. Even the process of thinking felt laborious. He shut his eyes.

        After a while as he awoke, he saw the sunlight all around him. The sun’s rays pierced through the windowpanes and warmly caressed the flowers on the table. He heard someone recite the Quran. He looked over his shoulder and found his mother absorbed in her recitation. Even now she moved from side to side when she read. Shahzad did not feel like talking and so he turned onto his side and fell asleep.

        Where was he and what was he doing here? These questions had ridden his mind of years, but at this moment their importance had magnified enormously.

        He had gone to Niagara Falls with Christine, had a quarrel with his Uncle Rasheed, Derek had given him amphetamine injections, he had drank Heineken beer with Rachel, and he had found Mary beside him in bed when he had gotten up in the morning. His thoughts were slowly transforming into facts, although haphazardly.

        When the nurse came into his room in the afternoon, Shahzad gathered some courage and asked, “Where am I and how long have I been here?”

        “You are in a Scarborough hospital. For the last three days you have been drifting between life and death. You were in the L.C.U., and now you are in a private room.”

        “But why was I brought to the hospital?” he asked, indicative of his ignorance.

        “I don’t know all the details, but your mother had found you covered in blood. You had severed your arm quite badly with a knife, perhaps with the intention of suicide.” The nurse left after her last statement. Shahzad again submerged into his thoughts. Suicide, blood, mother; all of these were confusing pieces of a puzzle to him.

        When the telephone rang Saleem lifted the receiving and heard the voice at the other end shout, “Hey Saleem! It’s Shahzad and I’m in trouble. I need your help!”

        “What has happened?” Saleem sounded surprised.

        “Look, don’t ask me too many questions right now. I’m in the hospital and these wretched nurses won’t let me go until some relative or a friend of mine comes to get me. Please come quickly.”

        Saleem felt like saying, “Look Shahzad, I am not your bloody servant. You are a selfish friend. For the last four years you think of me only when you are in a fix. Am I an emergency exist for your life or the anchor of your ship?” Then he thought, “The poor fellow has a good heart. He stood by me when I needed a friend. I ought to help him first and then talk to him and get this straightened out”, and so Saleem replied, “I’m on my way. What’s the address?”

        To call Saleem’s house a home was to disgrace the word ‘home’. Everyone called it a basement apartment but Shahzad had named it the ‘rat’s bill’. The apartment had two tiny rooms that were so dark that one needed to switch on the lights even in the daytime. Neither sunlight nor fresh air had their passage that way; yet, Saleem was happy with the place because he paid only three hundred dollars a month for rent. The landlady was a poor old soul who lived upstairs. She had no friends or relatives. She received an old age pension and the three hundred dollars from Saleem. Saleem was happy that he was helping an old woman. Beside, all the apartments he had seen cost at least eight hundred dollars a month. He was a Ph.D. student in social work and was not very well off. The old woman was also glad to have someone else around so that if she ever had a heart attack then Saleem would take her to the hospital or at least call for an ambulance. Sometimes Shahzad would joke with Saleem and say, “Let’s poison this old woman Saleem. Then you and I could live elegantly I this great mansion.” Saleem never liked that joke.

        Shahzad appreciated only one thing in the apartment: the full-length mirror one met on entering the apartment. Often he would watch his image in the mirror, brush his hair and feel pleased with himself. But that day Shahzad was shocked to see his reflection.

        “Is that really me?” he asked.

        It was the same Shahzad who considered himself tall and handsome and used to say, “I am that tall, dark, and handsome male who is every white woman’s dream and desire!” But that day the mirror mocked him. His curly hair was dirty, his skin pale like turmeric, and his beard scruffy from several days’ growth. His clothing was soiled, his jacket blood stained and his teeth unbrushed. His brown eyes in which a naughty smile would often dance, now had specters of gloom. His five-foot, ten-inch frame, one hundred and sixty pound body, looked sick and worn.

        “Life is nothing more than a sick joke,” said Shahzad kicking the wall.

        “Adam’s tasting of the apple and our expulsion from paradise must have their price!” Saleem said while he took off his overcoat.

        “It was Adam who committed the crime. Why are we the ones who pay?”

        “Take it easy Shahzad. Let’s sit down and talk. I’ll make some tea. Do not think only of the punishments; we also eat the fruits grown from the labour of our fore-parents.”

        Saleem could see that Shahzad was physically and mentally distressed. He had seen him angry and upset many times before but that day his condition was much worse.

        After Shahzad showered and cleaned himself up, Saleem asked, “Tell me what happened. What was it that made you so desperate that you actually considered suicide?”

        By that time Shahzad had succeeded in piecing together the events from the last few days. He replied, “It was a dream which became reality, a nightmare, a venomous reality. That disgusting Christine, damned Uncle Rasheed, and dishonest Ranjeet Singh; they have all pushed me to the mouth of death’s cave.” With that statement, Shahzad got up and started pacing the floor. Whenever he felt mentally strained he would begin pacing back and forth like an animal caged within a zoo.

        Saleem admonished him from the kitchen where he was making tea. “Shahzad when will you ever change? Bad seeds only bear bad fruits. I am afraid that if you can’t change your attitude you’ll either end up in jail or in a mental asylum. This is Canada, not Pakistan. Here one must obey the law.”

        When Saleem came in with the tea. Shahzad had departed. A piece of paper was lying on the table with stanza from Ghalib inscribed upon it:

        My life has had such a course, O’Ghalib

        What would I remember that there was a God!

        Despite his weakness Shahzad kept on walking towards the subway station and began wondering about the number of different fronts from which he was engaged in battle, and how for the last few days he was having a hard time on all fronts. Every person has a limit to his courage and tolerance. Shahzad’s tolerance was reaching its limit. He could no longer sustain the hardships, therefore he was starting to break apart from the inside.

        “Is it only my tragedy or one shared by every immigrant, or even by every human being living in the Twentieth Century?” For this question, he had no answer.

For the past several days Shahzad had been trying to solve that riddle, but the more he tried to find the solution the more entangled the puzzle became. When he was young he used to play with his Grandmother’s woolen ball. When he would lose track of the loose end he spent long periods of time searching for it. He knew that it was there in front of him somewhere; he just couldn’t see it.

        When he left home that evening he thought he would give the money to Rachel when they met at Scandal’s bar and then go right back home. He was sitting in the bar drinking beer with Rachel when Derek showed up; privately Derek told him that his companions had raided a hospital in Montreal and brought with them a box of amphetamine injections. Shahzad’s mouth started to water. He thought that if he could make some quick money then he would return the three hundred dollars he had taken from his mother. Shahzad contacted his dealers in Oshawa, Scarborough, downtown Toronto, and Mississauga and arranged to sell twenty injections.

        “What’s wrong with making a thousand dollars in a day? One can’t give anything in charity if there’s no money in one’s pocket to begin with,” thought Shahzad and he returned to Rachel and ordered another beer.

        Rachel understood the situation, as she had been involved in the same line of business in the past: “Shahzad, in the coal trade everyone’s face turns black. For some it happens quickly while for others it takes time.” Shahzad smiled, and then changed the subject.

        Rachel left shortly afterwards but Shahzad stayed there and drank a few more beers. When he awoke the next day, he found himself in Mary’s bed.

        “How did I get here?” he asked, innocently. How many times had it been that he asked the same question of different women in the past?

        “My husband has gone to California. When we met yesterday I brought you home with me. Other than that, you haven’t been coming around to see me lately or answered your phone.”

        Shahzad looked at his watch. It was eleven-thirty. He put his clothes on in a hurray and prepared to leave. Mary insisted that he have a cup of tea before he left but Shahzad picked up his coat and said, “I have to get downtown by noon.”

        “At least give me a call sometime,” Mary cried.

        He answered, “Sure”, and ran down the stairs.

        Shahzad took twenty-two injections from Derek. He gave twenty to the dealers, hid two injections in his socks, and put a thousand dollars in his pocket. He was happy proceeding towards the subway station when Ranjeet Singh met him on the way. Ranjeet stood with his back to the wall; his nose was bleeding.

        “What happened Ranjeet?” Shahzad asked patting his friend on the back.

        “I’m going through some bad times. Jagjeet has confiscated my salary for two weeks. When I insisted on having my money, he and I quarreled. It came to blows. Jagjeet called for two white ruffians; first he had me beaten and then he called the police and told them that I was living here illegally.”

        Shahzad was shocked. It was he who had gotten that job for Ranjeet; Rangeet was an illegal immigrant but he was a sincere man. He had helped Shahzad several times in his disputes. He had even taken risks for him. Shahzad took the thousand dollars from his pocket, wrote a telephone number on a piece of paper and said, “Ranjeet go to Vancouver directly and call this number. It’s a friend of mine. He’ll put you up for a couple of weeks. I’ve also heard that it won’t be very long now before the government grants general amnesty to all illegal immigrants.”

        Once again Shahzad’s mood became very foul. For years he could not understand why Asian immigrants felt such animosity towards one another. Perhaps it was too much to expect that they would help each other out; hell, they couldn’t even stand to see each other happy. For the sake of a few dollars or some false fame, they wouldn’t hesitate to cut each other’s throats.

        Shahzad reached home in that same frame of mind. He wanted to climb the stairs and go straight to his room. Unexpectedly he came home to find his mother, father, aunt and uncle sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner. His mother called out to him, “Son, your Aunt Khadija is here. Pay your respects to her.”

        Unwillingly he stopped. He detested that aunt and uncle. He believed that it was they who called his parents to Canada and destroyed their lives. Shahzad thought to himself, “If we had stayed in Pakistan perhaps we would not be in such bad shape.” Every once in a while he would have the same thoughts that every unsuccessful immigrant share. His blood used to boil in anger on seeing that particular uncle, whose own son lives in England with an English woman without being married. The situation bothered the uncle very much and he would release his anger upon Shahzad by giving him sermons. Uncle Rasheed was also filling Shahzad’s father’s ears, and he would even counsel his father sometimes.

        Shahzad simply obeyed when Aunt Khadija said, “Come in here, boy! How are you son?”

        “I am quite upset,” Shahzad answered truthfully. “A friend of mine is in trouble; the police are after him.”

        “He must be a law breaker,” interrupted the uncle, turning in his wheelchair. “If you continue to keep company with these criminals then you too will become one.”

        “But he is a very good man at heart,” replied Shahzad.

        “Like you, who could not even spare his own mother and stole three hundred dollars from her?”

        Shahzad was enraged. His uncle had chosen the wrong time for yet another attack. Shahzad’s eyes became bloodshot. He approached the table and said, “You abominable man! Aren’t you ashamed! You ruined us by calling us to Canada and now you insult me in my own home. Get out of my house!” Shahzad grabbed the tablecloth.

        “This is my brother’s and my sister-in-law’s home,” the uncle blurted out.

        “This is my and my parent’s house. Get your damned face out of here!” Shahzad pulled the tablecloth in such a way that all the food fell on his uncle.

        “You alcoholic! You fornicator!” his uncle replied, also furious.

        Shahzad was about to step forward and hit his uncle but his father came between them. Instead, he turned and went out of the house.

        “Alcoholic! Fornicator!” were the words that echoed in Shahzad’s ears as he wandered through the streets.

        Filled with impatience, Shahzad wandered along the streets of town. Many of his past dilemmas came to mind and then faded just as quickly. He remembered the days from his childhood when he lived in Lahore with his parents in a small shabby house in Old Anarkali. His parents were so poor that at night they had to burn an oil lamp or a candle for light, and Shahzad used to read his school books on the pavement under the street light. His friend Hameed, who lived in a big house nearby, used to invite Shahzad to his house but Shahzad always had to decline the invitation because he felt embarrassed; he was ashamed of his old and unclean clothes. He always wondered why he had been given the name Shahzad at birth when it was his friend who lived like a prince. Hameed’s father used to drive him to school in the family car whereas Shahzad had to walk; even as a child there was no justice. Shahzad remembered too the days of Muharrem when Hameed wore black garments to signify his grief, and Shahzad thought, “I should be the one who grieves because of my poverty, not Hameed.” He laughed at God’s twisted sense of humour.

        He also recalled the times when Aunt Saeeda would take him with her to the tomb of Data Sahib. At the tomb she would eat salt, sweep the courtyard, and pray all the while with tears running down her cheeks. Shahzad later learned that his aunt used to pray for a male child. He remembered having overheard his uncle suggest to his aunt that they should consult a doctor to which his aunt replied, “God gave a son to Murrium, so why can’t he do the same for me?”

        For years, Shahzad had believed that since his own mother was called Murrium, that his aunt had been referring to her. It was much later on that he discovered his aunt had been talking about the mother of Jesus.

        Shahzad remembered yet another evening when a woman from his neighbourhood was walking through the Anarkali bazaar with a friend and the woman’s brother saw the two of them together. The brother became so enraged to see his sister with an unknown man that he beat the man causing a lot of blood shed. The sister kept telling her brother that her friend was a decent person but the brother would not listen. He felt that his incident was an offense to the family’s honour.

        The more Shahzad learned about the customs in his surroundings, the more he felt uneasy living here. Supervision, ignorance, the unequal distribution of wealth, and the curse of disease were wide spread. But what hurt Shahzad most was the cruelty of man towards other men. He felt that the atmosphere in which he had been reared neither respected any religious decree nor any of the laws made by the government. If there was a law that prevailed, then it was that “might is right”.

        He was very happy when the first elections were held in the country, thinking that this was a positive step forward; however, when four years had passed, and it was again time for another election, Shahzad became alarmed. Soon afterwards martial law was enforced. He remembered telling his friends that elections were not meant for Pakistanis and Muslims because the procedure for holding elections was contrary to their temperaments. For centuries they had been accustomed to violence and dictatorship; the only relationship they knew of was the one that existed between slave and master. It does not matter whether one is called Abdullah, Abdul Rashid, Ghulam Nabi or Ghulum Rasool. Whether a slave of the government or a slave of one’s wife, human liberty and equality had not become a part of their society and their politics.

        Shahzad felt depressed in that atmosphere, yet it was an atmosphere in which he grew up and was familiar. The same way that an addict cherishes his pains and sorrows, Shahzad too liked those woes because they were his own. He had a bond with them. Every human being in the world shares those pains and sorrows with a smile on his face, which gives him a sense of personal intimacy.

        Shahzad had just finished his Bachelor’s Degree in Philosophy when his Uncle Rasheed and his Aunt Khadija beaconed his parents to come to Canada. His aunt and uncle made it seem as if they were doing his parents a great favour. His parents were happy believing that the jewels after having been plucked from the mud would not be decorated on a crown; but those jewels after leaving their abode in the mud could never make it to a crown. Shahzad’s parent’s connection with the past was now broken and they failed to establish a link with the future. They no longer belonged to any place; they were sheep with had lost their flocks.

        When Shahzad put his hand in his pocket, he found the paper on which Christine’s telephone number was written. Christine was one of his favourite married ladies who, whenever her husband was out of town, invited Shahzad to her bedroom. Fortunately, Christine was a home when Shahzad called. She said her husband was away at a conference in Chicago.

        “Come and pick me up Christine. I’m not feeling very well. I really need to talk to you. I’ll be waiting for you by the theater in the Scarborough Town Centre.”

        Shahzad had told Christine many lies about himself, and sometimes he could feel their thorny touch. When Christine arrived, Shahzad was feeling sad and dejected. Christine gave him a warm embrace, and in return he kissed her tepidity on the cheek.

        “It’s good that you came, otherwise anything could have happened,” remarked Shahzad.

        Christine gave Shahzad the car keys and he got into the driver’s seat. Christine sat in the seat and started playing with his hair. After a long spell of silence, Shahzad said, “Christine, I’m breaking apart inside!” He had such pathos in his voice that Christine put her head on his shoulder.

        “I want to tell you everything, Christine. Other times that we’ve been together I’ve kept you in the dark. Today, I feel like spitting the venom that’s inside me.”

        Christine listened silently.

        “I have a volcano inside me that has been inactive, but now it is about to erupt.” After a short while Shahzad said, “Let’s go to Niagara Falls before we go to Hamilton. Whenever I am elated or depressed, I like to go there.”

        “I’ve no objection to that?” said Christine who only wanted to be near Shahzad.

        Shahzad put his foot on the accelerator, the speedometer responded: one hundred, then one hundred and ten, one hundred and twenty and before he knew it Shahzad was driving at a speed of one hundred and thirty kilometers per hour.

        “We’re going too fast! Slow down Shahzad!” Christine said while she patted him on the cheek. Shahzad slowed down for a few seconds and then he increased the speed once again.

        “I have a whole flood of hatred within me!” Shahzad pushed the accelerator down even further. Christine became restless.

        Suddenly they heard a police siren from the car behind that was chasing them. Shahzad stopped the car by the side of the road and waited for the police officer. The officer first cast an eye at Shahzad and then at Christine, and then he looked into the back seat of the car. He was probably searching for alcohol.

        “May I look at your driver’s license?”

        Shahzad slowly took his wallet out of his pocket, shuffled through a stack of papers, and then gave the police officer his license.

        “I also need to see the vehicle registration and car insurance.”

        Nervously, Christine took the papers out of the glove compartment and handed them to the officer.

        “You were driving one hundred and thirty kilometers in a one hundred kilometer an hour zone!”

        Shahzad remained silent. The police officer went to his car with the documents, while Christine and Shahzad sat there quietly.

        “I don’t have a very good driving record,” Shahzad said, as casually as if he were remarking about the weather.

        Christine thought that he had probably received a couple of parking tickets. Then she thought to herself, “He’s a responsible social worker. I’m sure he hasn’t done anything illegal.”

        Their silence in the car taxed their perseverance. After a long period of time the police officer returned to the car and addressed Shahzad: “Mr. Malik. According to the computer records, you have fifteen unpaid parking fines, you have received three previous speeding tickets for which you have lost ten of your fifteen driving points, and your driver’s license has expired. You may not drive any longer. The only way that you can proceed now is to let the owner of the car, Mrs. MacNeel drive, if she has her driver’s license with her.”

        Without saying a word, Shahzad got out of the car, and walked around to the passenger’s side. “Christine, please drive,” he said while opening the door.

        At first, Christine just sat there as if she were in shock, then she got up quietly and walked over to the driver’s side of the car and sat down.

        “And, Mr. Malik, this is your notice to appear in court.”

        There was silence and then Shahzad responded, “Let’s just get going. I didn’t realize that my license had expired.”

        Christine was deeply surprised by Shahzad nonchalance. Small beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead.

        Much later they arrived in Niagara Falls. They found a place to park the car. Shahzad and Christine strolled along the walkway when they abruptly came to a standstill. The falls were facing them, and they were sprayed with a fine mist.

        “Whenever I am happy or sad, I come this way. Sometimes these falls give me hope for living, and sometimes they give me a wish to die.”

        “Well, how is it today?”

        “I feel like wrapping myself in these sheets of water, falling asleep, and then never getting up again. The whole meaning of life is fading away.”

        After a few moments of silence, Shahzad asked an unexpected question, “Christine, does your life have a purpose?”

        “Yes, the search for happiness.”

        “But the only person that can be happy in this world is the person who has lost all feelings of pain and suffering for his own person as well as his surroundings. Insensitivity and pleasure go hand and hand together.”

        “Shahzad, my clothes are getting wet from the mist. Let’s go and find a place to sit where we can talk privately and have a view of the falls at the same time.”

        “Alright. I want to tell you so many things.”

        They walked up to a thick tree and sat on the grass beneath it. Shahzad responded, “Christine I want to come clean with you. I am neither a social worker nor do I live in Mississauga. I’ve been lying to you. There are several other things about my life that you probably won’t like. I am a thief, a gambler, a drunkard, and a fornicator. I even have a bad record with the police. For quite some time I have been involved in selling cocaine and amphetamines; actually, I took an injection this morning. I am fed up with life; the whole thing is a tragic play, and I believe that my role in this play is now over. You have been very kind to me therefore I think that I should now be honest with you. I am very depressed right now.”

        Christine sat there like a statue made of stone, and asked herself; “What should I believe, and what must I ignore? Is he a responsible social worker, or a downright criminal? Is he telling me the truth or just testing me? Should I extend a friendly hand and comfort him, or run miles away from him while I still can?” She was in a great fix.

        “But how did you begin this criminal life?” Christine remarked. The social worker within her was now awakening.

        “How do I know? The atmosphere I grew up in abounds with curses of religious dogmatism, hypocrisy and dictatorial rule, while the good Lord sits far away and smiles at the spectacle. And whenever either God or the Government fails to provide protection for the people, the masses are forced to take the law into their own hands. Ever since I have come to Canada I am like a dog with no fixed address.”

        Suddenly Christine realized that the person she wanted to interview was not a patient, but her lover. She got up in a hurry.

        “You are a cheat, and wish to entrap me in your verbal web.”

        “When have I ever said otherwise?”

        “This is also one of your tricks. You gave me your sweet and sour pills of truth and falsehood, and enticed me into your bedroom where you put up a false display of honesty. Now I understand you. You are a criminal. Yes a criminal. You shouldn’t be out on the streets roaming freely, but confined in a jail cell. How many innocent lives have you ruined? I hate you Shahzad!”

        Christine’s endurance had reached its limit.

        “I trusted you and you took advantage of it. I put my marriage and my husband aside and tried to give you love, but you made fun of it. I don’t want to spend a moment longer with a villain like you. Go! Go jump into the falls. The fewer of your kind, the better the world would be.”

        Christine started to move away.

        “Listen, please listen to me Christine. Calm down, and at lest drive me back home.”

        Christine didn’t even look back, while Shahzad stood there, just staring into space.

        He hitch-hiked his way home.

        That night Shahzad’s mother found him drenched in blood.

Chapter 2

He had been in the hospital for a month. Several interesting experiences came his way during this time, but the hopes with which he had come, remained unfulfilled. He had thought that the specialists in psychology would apply some anodyne on his injured soul and one day he would return home totally cured; but, after his encounter with them he wasn’t very impressed by the nurses, social workers, psychologists and doctors. If Julie had not been there he would have left much earlier.

        He looked at the bed beside his own. Cathy, an aged woman, was turned on her side in her bed. Nearby was a wheelchair which she needed to be able to get from place to place. Cathy was always sad and gloomy. She had emigrated from England to Canada twenty years ago. As old age crept upon her she felt more and more broken hearted. Last week she turned sixty-five and she spent her birthday alone. No friend or well-wisher visited her. She had cried the whole night, finally called an ambulance about four in the morning, and came to the hospital. The doctor admitted her to the psychiatric ward because there was no other vacant bed in any other part of the hospital. She was put into the same room as Shahzad. Shahzad couldn’t imagine that someone would call an ambulance for such a problem.

        Shahzad was confused about psychological problems, their causes and their treatments. His source of knowledge was limited to the articles he had read in different digests. He had been brought up in a place where the main concerns and causes of death were malaria, diarrhea, and tuberculosis. Each moment was a battle between life and death; no one paid attention to psychological disorders when life threatening problems took precedence. That is why Shahzad never really listened to the suggestions of his friends Rachel and Saleem in the past when they had each recommended that he see a psychiatrist. In the beginning he was angry with their suggestions and said, “I’m not crazy!” Then Shahzad would quickly change the topic, and later on he simply kept quiet.

        After his attempted suicide, Shahzad was brought first to the Emergency Department, and then to the Intensive Care Unit. Once he had recovered to some degree the nurses had advised him to see a psychiatrist. Listening to their recommendation frightened Shahzad so much that he attempted to run from the hospital toward the safety of his own home. Then one day Shahzad came to see the psychiatrist on his own.

        The same evening Shahzad visited Rachel. She was feeling poorly with a cough and a cold. Shahzad was glad to see that Rachel’s son David had come to visit his mother. The moment David saw Shahzad he yelled “Uncle!” and ran to him. Shahzad liked children very much. Sometimes when Rachel saw Shahzad playing with David she would say, “Shahzad, a great change will come into you life when you have a child of your own.” Shahzad ignored her comment and just continued playing with David.

        That evening David was a bit sad that his mother was sick and they couldn’t go out.

        “What would you like to do David?” Shahzad asked lovingly.

        “Uncle, I want to go to McDonald’s and get a Big Mac.”

        How could Rachel have any objection? She was happy that David was spending time with Shahzad; it was important for David to have a male role model. Single mothers needed to think about so many different things when raising children on their own.

        Shahzad and David relished their Big Macs, french fries, and Cokes. Shahzad wanted to buy a Coke for Rachel but David insisted that she had a cold and that she needed juice instead of Coke.

        After their meal they went to a nearby toy shop called Toys-R-Us. The store had a large selection of stuffed animals. David ran around the store for a little while and then he came running to Shahzad with expectant eyes.

        “Uncle, can I have a teddy bear? All my friends have many of them, but I don’t even have one.”

        David had never asked Shahzad for anything in the past, and Shahzad remembered that he hadn’t given David a present for his birthday. It seemed like a good idea to buy the bear but the problem was that Shahzad had only a few dollars in his pocket. He stood there a little confounded, and then the looked at the watch on his wrist and had a thought. A gleam of hope lit his eyes.

        “David, let’s go for a walk first. We’ll buy the teddy bear on the way home.”

        David didn’t understand, but followed Shahzad anyway. Shahzad found a pawn shop and sold his four hundred dollar watch for one hundred dollars in cash. Then he and David returned to the toy store and bought a huge white teddy bear for eighty dollars. David first hugged the bear and then he hugged Shahzad and gave him a kiss on the cheek as a token of his gratitude. When they reached home Shahzad told Rachel that it was David’s birthday present.

        When Shahzad returned to his parents’ home later than evening there was a lot of tension in the air. It felt as if someone had just recently poured water onto burning oil. His mother and father were very angry. His mother gave Shahzad the summons to appear in court and face dozens of charges. His father handed him a letter from the Employment Centre asking him to appear for an interview.

        “Why won’t you go for the interview?” asked his father, every word conveying rage. Shahzad knew that at one time his father would never confront him in that manner, but Uncle Rasheed had incited his father, and now he had started reproaching Shahzad.

        “I’m not going to work for only five dollars an hour,” he answered calmly.

        “What’s wrong with honest earnings? One should be proud of the labour that one does.”

        Shahzad preferred to remain silent. He didn’t want to start an argument with his father that could soon get out of control.

        By chance, Shahzad’s mother looked at his wrist and asked, “Where is your watch?”

        At first Shahzad thought he should just lie about the watch, but then all the advantages of speaking the truth flashed in his mind and he said, I sold it.”

        “But your uncle gave that watch to you as a gift!”

        “That’s why I sold the damned thing!” The lava within Shahzad had started to rumble.

        “Your Uncle Rasheed is my brother. You should show some respect!”

        “Yes, he is your brother, but he has no say in my life!”

        Before the volcano within him could erupt, Shahzad got up and went to his room. He tried to find solace in the arms of sleep. When he awoke his body was drenched with perspiration. It was two o’clock in the morning. He had a nightmare. He got out of bed, put on his coat and shoes and left the house. He walked around outside for quite some time. When he stopped, he found himself in front of the hospital.

        “You ought to consult a psychiatrist,” was the remark that echoed in Shahzad’s mind. Shahzad walked into the Emergency Department.

        “I am mentally very strained. I need to talk to a psychiatrist.”

        The nurse replied, looking at a chart on the wall, “The psychiatrist doesn’t work during the night, but his assistant Dr. Julie Arnold, an intern, is on duty. Please be seated in the waiting room and I’ll call her.”

        Shahzad waited. After a long time had passed, a tall, long-haired female doctor entered the room. She was wearing white overalls and rubbing her eyes. Waves of sleep still surged in her blue eyes. She took Shahzad to the interview room.

        “How can I help you?” Her tone carried an air of genuine concern.

        “I had a horrible dream. It was disturbed me very much.”

        Despite Shahzad’s worried condition, he took pleasure Julie’s being.

        “Tell me about your dream.”

        “I dreamt that I had died and my body was lying in a room. All my friends and relatives were standing around and casting flowers on my corpse. In the dream I can hear my mother say, ‘He was very sick’ and my father says, ‘He was very lazy.’ Then my uncle walks into the room and says, ‘He was stupid. An idiot. He has brought shame to our family. Let’s get on with it; bury him quickly?’”

        “I can see it all and I want to say, ‘Hey, I’m alive. I can hear all of you’, but I can’t move and I can’t talk. They pick me up and they carry my body to the cemetery. I try to shout, but it’s no use, they can’t hear me.

        ‘Don’t bury me alive!’ I shout in protect. They lift me into the grave and start throwing earth all over me. I hear my mother cry in anguish, and I hear my uncle whisper, ‘The less we have of such filth around here the cleaner the world’.

        “That whisper functioned like a whip and I woke up in a state of frenzy. I found myself covered in a blanket of sweat and blood. I began swearing at my uncle and then I started hating myself.”

        Shahzad rolled up his sleeves and showed the doctor the many knife wounds on his arms.

        “At first I thought I wanted to end it all, but then I decided to come to the hospital for help. If I don’t get some help, I think I’ll lose my mind.”

        Julie was deeply moved by his plight, and appreciated his honesty.

        “It appears as if life has not been very kind to you. There is only one vacant bed on the ward, and I’d like to admit you to hospital.”

        Shahzad had never before been admitted to a psychiatric ward. Other than spending a few hours in the Emergency Department, he had never stayed in any ward of the hospital. He spent the first two days taking impression of the unit’s construction. The hospital had been recently built, it had expensive carpeting, colourful wallpaper, and easy chairs made of plastic and wood. Every room was provided with a mirror and a TV, and had its own bathroom. In the beginning he felt that he was not in a hospital but the guest at a Holiday Inn.

Shahzad’s high regard for the unit’s construction was ruined by his opinion of the staff. It reminded him of an army unit: the psychiatrist was its colonel, the head nurse was the major and the rest of the staff were captains. The head nurse was a very large dictator who had her own set of rules for every aspect of the unit. Anyone who broke a rule was court-martialed. All four psychiatrists in the unit trusted the head nurse fully. The truth was, that in spite of her rank as major, she exercised more influence in the unit than the colonels.

        The very first day Shahzad was on the unit, he witnessed a strange incident. The head nurse asked a patient named John who had not eaten for several days why he wasn’t eating.

        “God has forbidden me to eat. I hear his voice every morning and this is his desire.”

        “Listen Mr. John! I am the “god” of this unit and I command you to eat!”

        The amazing thing was that the patient did start to eat.

        Shahzad had never approved of dictatorship, nor had he approved of one person commanding anther person to do anything. That was one of the reasons he had such a hard time with his family members. The more they tried to order him around, the more he rebelled.

        All totaled, there were twenty patients on the unit. It was a mixed group of both men and women. Some of the rooms were private rooms which accommodated only one patient, while the other rooms housed two patients. In the centre of the unit, there was a station for the nurses. On one side of the nurse’s station there was a drawing room, while on the other side a lounge where the patients would sit and talk, play cards, or just doze off.

        Shahzad had assumed that the psychiatrist would see him daily and interview him thoroughly. During the first three days Shahzad did not meet even once with the psychiatrist. When they did meet, the psychiatrist’s discourse with Shahzad was confined to just a few minutes. He was surprised that most of the time he interacted with the nurses, who seemed more interested in the running of the unit and its management than in the problems faced by the patients. It seemed that the highest priority was given to observation of the rules and regulations in this place.

        It didn’t take very long before friction arose between Shahzad and the nurses.

        Julie would come to see Shahzad each day at ten in the morning and they talked for about thirty minutes. Julie had told him frankly that she was not a psychiatrist and that she was only there for six weeks. Still, Shahzad grew very fond of Julie. She was his only comfort in that unit. She was the only one that treated him like a human being, not as a patient. None of the nurses appreciated Julie. They thought that she was paying too much attention to Shahzad.

        One day when Shahzad was sleeping, his mother came to visit. She started making an offer of meat over his head. When the nurse asked her what she was doing, she replied, “This is a demon-expeller. I will distribute it among the poor so that the evil spirits will leave Shahzad in peace.”

        The nurse kept quiet. When Shahzad woke up he saw that his mother had left halva and Divan-e-Ghalib for him. He thought about her motherly compassion and smiled, thinking, “She is simple, but she really does care about me.”

        That afternoon, Shahzad was sitting in the lounge when three female patients from the unit came up to him. When he mentioned that his mother had visited and brought him some halva they said that they would like to taste it. Shahzad went running to his room and brought them the dish. They had never tasted halva before, and although each of them said that she was on a diet, they cleaned the whole plate in no time at all.

        The same evening, Shahzad’s condition deteriorated. He regressed into the domain of sorrow, and began thinking, “What am I in this vast universe? Am I merely a wiggling worm? There are innumerable galaxies in this universe, suns, and moons, and planets, and I exist on one of the planets called the Earth, with five billion other poor souls.” He recalled the scene from his past when he flew over New York City and could see the people below him from the plane, looking like an army of ants. “We are born, we live and then we just expire,” he thought.

        He was laying in the dark in his room when Dr. Smith, Julie, and a nurse came into his room.

        “How are you Shahzad? Why are you laying in the dark?”

        “I am a living dead,” he responded.

        “Why do you not value life?”

        “Life is just another name for Hell; if it improves, it becomes an isthmus.”

        “We shall talk another time.”

        Late at night when Shahzad was walking restlessly in the corridor, he passed the nurses’ station and heard one of them say, “He thinks he is the Sheik of Arabia.”

        Another said, “His mother is very uneducated and quite superstitious. She has spoiled him.”

        “Julie is far too attentive to him.”

        Then he heard Cynthia, the nurse in charge on the night shift, say, “He also misuses the other patients. Three women were quarrelling with each other over which one of them should sew the buttons on his shirt. He had given them halva to eat.”

        Shahzad wondered if Cynthia, who herself was a very pretty woman and the wife of a police officer, might suffer from jealousy.

        The weekly conference took place the next day. Julie presented his case. “Shahzad is a young Pakistani man who has lived in Canada for the past ten years. He is very depressed and sad. Before he was admitted to hospital he had been having nightmares in which he saw himself lying in a grave, while his relatives jeered at him. Earlier, he had also tried to commit suicide on two or three occasions.”

        That afternoon after the conference, one of the nurses told Shahzad that Dr. Smith had prescribed pills for him because he thought he was a victim of depression. Dr. Smith had also asked a psychologist and a social worker to interview Shahzad and then inform him of their observations.

        “Why didn’t Dr. Smith consult me before he prescribed those pills?”

        “It’s the doctor’s order. Take the pills,” was all that was said in reply to Shahzad.

        Shahzad understood that giving and receiving orders was the fashion here; the consultation of a patient was a practice they had long forgotten.

        Julie still visited Shahzad regularly. He had now developed an even greater attraction towards her. If he were not in a hospital, he would have entered the depths of those blue eyes of hers a long time ago. At the same time, the friction between the nurses on the unit and Julie continued to increase.

        One evening, the situation was really mad. Shahzad was busy talking to his roommate Cathy. She was a rather quiet person and often shed tears silently. In the beginning she did not talk to Shahzad very much. She wanted to go to the bathroom, but her wheelchair was broken. She called for the nurse, who said she was very busy and could not come right away. Cathy was desperate to go to the washroom. Shahzad got up and inspected the wheelchair and found that one of the screws was loose. He fastened it with a screwdriver. Cathy blessed him many times, and went to the bathroom on her own.

        A few minutes later, Cynthia came into the room. She was enraged.

        “Mr. Malik, do you have a screwdriver?”

        “Yes, I do. I just repaired Cathy’s wheelchair with it.”

        “That is a weapon, and not permitted on this unit. You should have given it to the nurses when you were admitted!”

        “If you wish, you can have it. I didn’t know the rules of this unit.”

“You ought to have known,” Cynthia said, and snatched the screwdriver from Shahzad’s hand.

        Shahzad felt like slapping Cynthia on the face, and then saying to her, “First of all the nurses did not assist Cathy, and secondly when I tried to help her instead of being thankful you are getting mad at me!” After thinking it over, Shahzad thought, “She is stupid and a woman. If she were a man I would have knocked her out!” and he just turned away instead.

        Shahzad’s problems had multiplied not decreased since he had come to the unit. The psychologist interviewed him and gave him a form with hundreds of questions to answer. He spent hours completing the form, without much concentration on the task at hand.

        Next, the social worker came to ask him questions about his family. Everyone was asking questions, but no one was helping him find any answers.