IN SEARCH OF AN ABSCONDER

The Customs Officer opened the mail folder before him. He went through the inward communications, looking for any urgent case which needed his immediate attention. Most of them were ritual and automatic in nature. Calling for statistical data, establishment matters and communications of irrelevant circulars etc were a regular feature. In fact, who cared for the data? Sent data were often asked for again. But, the reports had to be promptly sent again. Delay would be questioned, but not its accuracy. He remembered the advice of a senior officer when he joined the service. The most important thing was the promptness in submission of reports called for. Immaterial it was whether it contained the fact. That could be rectified or altered later if at all questioned, the chance of which was remote. But non-submission or delay in submission would raise the eyebrows of the higher-ups instantly.

The officer’s fingers came over a mail marked urgent. Yes, that could be important and should be given priority. The letter was marked as reminder in red ink. Going through the content, he remembered its earlier receipt in the previous week. It was to enquire and report on the whereabouts of an absconder who happened to have been involved in a gold smuggling case long back. More than a decade had passed since he was caught for smuggling gold in its primary biscuit form. The gold was seized, a case was booked and the person was arrested and released on bail. The person had simply jumped the bail. Later, prosecution action was initiated against him under a stringent Act for prevention of smuggling by which he could be imprisoned for one year even with out a trial. But, the person was found missing. The letter directed the officer to find out the whereabouts of the accused and report urgently. The officer remembered that, earlier, any one in possession of gold in primary form could have been arrested and the gold seized. The laws against gold smuggling were very stringent in those days. There were limits set even for possession of gold ornaments by an individual. The stringent Act had later been dispensed with. That, however, did not dilute the gravity of the earlier cases booked while the Act reigned.

There were umpteen works to be attended. Office and administrative works apart, there were field works such as patrolling, conducting searches, tracing persons to effect recoveries of long pending customs revenue and detecting fresh cases. The letter received in the last week was not purposely left unattended by the officer. True, the work was important. But, how was he to enquire on a person whose address could hardly be made out from the letter. Only the name was given as Ahmed Faizal and his native place was also given. His place was a developing town. There could be many Ahmed Faizals in that locality. There was no photograph and no identification particulars. The officer felt that it was absurd to enquire to any one on the whereabouts of a person without showing the photograph or home address for identification. There were more important works which could be attended to without any difficulty. A decade had passed since he absconded. A few more days would not make much difference. Going through the file, the officer noted that such letters were also a routine. Okay, that could wait. The officer decided. Fruitless enquiries could be done when time permitted. Some times, this letter would also die naturally like many others in the file; he hoped and had left it unattended. But, then this reminder had come. It was better to send a reply after conducting a formal enquiry in what ever manner possible, he decided.

The officer proceeded to the locality of the accused on the next day morning. He asked the driver to take him to the only post office in the locality. There were two postmen, sorting out the letters. One was young and looked as a new appointee. The other was quite old. The old man might be able to give some clues, the officer expected. He went straight to the old man and whispered in his ears that he was a Customs officer and had come to enquire some thing from him. Immediate response would come if the identity was revealed, the officer knew from his experiences. The postman looked up respectfully. “Please come outside for five minutes”, the officer requested. The postman came out with the officer. The officer enquired whether he knew one Mr. Ahmed Faizal in the locality. The postman thought for some time and said that there were three Ahmed Faizals known to him in the locality. One was a business man running a grocery shop, one a teacher and the third an auto driver. The officer made a rough calculation in his mind. None of them matched for an occupation of a retired smuggler. “There could be some one else also”, he prompted the post man to recollect better. But, the post man was adamant. “Sir, I had been working for fifty years as postman here and I know every one here. There isn’t any other person by this name in this locality”, he asserted. The officer gathered the addresses of the three persons the postmen knew and left after thanking him.

It would be better to check-up with the business man first, the officer thought. That stood a better chance among the three. He gathered information on the business man from others nearby. From the information gathered, the officer realized that there was no chance for him to be the one looked for. He was also an old man like the postman and had been running the shop by himself roughly for thirty to forty years and is presently assisted by his son. He had never been to the Gulf and known to every one around for many years. He could be returned to later if needed after checking up with the other two, the officer thought. The school where the teacher worked was also nearby. So, the officer proceeded to him next. He knew that the teacher stood the last chance. But, better check on before ruling out, the officer thought. He contacted the Headmaster, introduced himself and requested to give the date of appointment of the teacher in the school. The teacher was found to be appointed much before the smuggling incident took place. “Had he ever taken long leave and left the school after being appointed?”, the officer enquired. “No. never”, the Headmaster replied and added that he had been a sincere teacher liked by one and all. Then the final question from the officer came. “Do you know whether he had been to the Gulf at any time?” Prompt was the reply, “No sir, never after his appointment in this school”. The teacher could be totally ruled out, the officer decided. He thanked the Headmaster and requested him not to disturb the mind of the teacher by informing his visit. He further said that the teacher was not the person he had been looking for.

Now, the third one only was left to be enquired upon. He was an auto driver. So, it would be easy to trace him out. Any auto driver in the small town would be able to give the information on him, the officer thought. Suddenly it crossed his mind that it wouldn’t be an ideal choice to make the enquiry in that manner. An enquiry in public would attract attention of his colleagues and might cause the driver to be looked upon suspiciously by others. That was not required. And there was also the chance that the driver could be part of a stubborn and powerful union in which case the situation may turn around against the officer himself and his antecedents would be questioned up roughly instead of the officer questioning him. No, that was not a wise option. It was better to make enquiry at his home. He decided. “There is a kilometer distance to his home from the main road”, the post man had said. “Walking is good for health not only in the morning, but in such situations also”, the officer comforted himself. It was a narrow path. He left the jeep and the driver on the road side and embarked upon the healthy endeavour.

Tired in the sun, the officer finally reached the home. He was surprised to see that the home did not look like even that for an auto driver; leave alone as that for an ex-smuggler. It was an old small home in a very dilapidated condition. The small veranda was plastered with mud. Tiles made of clay managed to stay together, above a bending wooden frame which constituted the roof. The windows did not have doors, but were covered with old cloths put together in a feeble attempt to make it look like curtains. On a string tied between the two nearby trees in the courtyard, lay a khaki shirt left out for drying. Should he call up the inmates and enquire or leave them alone? The officer thought for a moment. The walk should not be for nothing. He would just make a casual query and go, he decided. Before he could call out, an elderly woman appeared from inside. Seeing the stranger, she pulled down her veil a little more and enquired to the officer what he wanted?

 “Is it Mr. Ahmed Fazal’s home?’   The officer politely enquired.

 “Yes, but he is in the town. He is running an auto. You could have asked any auto driver there”, she replied.

“But who are you?” It was her turn to ask now. He could tell a lie he thought, but then changed his mind. No, not to an elderly woman like that who was as old as his own mother.

“I am from the Customs department”, the officer answered.

Suddenly, the woman’s eyes widened with fear. With one hand she took support on the door frame. She looked as if she was going to collapse down. Staring glaringly and pointedly at the officer, she called out in a loud voice, “Khadeeja..”. It was rather a cry and not a call.

Even before the voice died down, Khadeeja appeared at the door step. The officer realized that Khadeeja had been listening to the talks, hiding herself behind the door. She immediately supported the elderly woman and guided her to a room inside. The officer could hear her consoling the woman and making her to lie down and relax. Then she came out again. She looked a little confident of herself. She offered the officer to sit down on a plastic chair which she brought from inside.

“Are you the wife of Mr. Ahmed Faizal ?” The officer asked.

“No. I am his sister”, came the reply.

“Are you not married?”, the officer queried.

“Yes, but I was left off by my husband”, she replied.

“Do you have children?” The question came out naturally from the officer.

Her confidence began to shatter down. “Yes. I have two sons. They have gone to school.”  The officer kept silent for a while and looked up at her face. He could see that tears were gathering in her eyes. Breaking the silence she continued, “My brother is looking after all of us by plying the auto that he hired from some one.”

It was time to come to the point, the officer thought. “Had he been to the Gulf earlier?”

“Yes”, she said. The silence crept in again. He waited for her to continue. She knew that he was from the Customs department and that he had come in search of her brother. So let her continue, he thought. After a few minutes, voice filtered through her lips. The nutshell of what she said was that her brother had been offered a visa by a person for a handsome amount. He managed to sell out the only plot of a few cents they owned other than their home-stead. The dream was that every thing could get compensated and bettered once he got the Gulf job. But to his dismay, he found that the remunerations he got for his job in Gulf was hardly enough to meet his own needs and therefore he decided to come back thinking of the predicaments of his near and dear at home. Meanwhile her husband was annoyed at selling the plot without his knowledge which provoked him to leave his wife and children high and dry. “That was only a reason to be told”, she said and continued. He had been threatening to leave her even much before. Her brother did not have the money even to buy a ticket back to home. It was then that a person there offered him a flight ticket. In return, he was to hand over a small packet to a person who would identify and approach him on his arrival back in the home land. He did not even guess of the content, until the Customs opened the packet and showed him. Even if he knew, he would not have made any objection as he didn’t know of its consequences.

“Why did he jump the bail?”, the officer asked.

“He had to feed us. He is the only bread winner in the family.” She answered and continued the story. "To avoid being caught, he went to some other places and worked and sent to us what ever money he could get. Years have passed and he thought the case would have been wound up and no body would come in search of him again."

The elderly woman was back on the door step. She seemed to have gathered a little mental strength. Looking distantly, she declared, “He will come after some time. You can take him if you want. Enough is enough. With that we will all end up our lives”.

The officer got up from the chair. Enough was enough for him too. He said in a low voice, “Think that I have not come. I won’t cause any problem to you. Do not tell your son that I had come. That would unnecessarily perturb him and prompt him to run off again. Live as you are. Good-bye”. The officer felt comfort in having to walk a kilometer back. That would contain his emotions and the tears which had started gathering in his eyes. He wondered why the Almighty impose life on people without their consent, only for them to struggle for a survival till they breathed last.

The driver was patiently waiting for him. Sitting inside, the officer requested the driver to drop him at his home. “I am in no mood to work any more today”, he reasoned.

Next day morning, the officer came to the office early and started writing the reply to the reminder letter.

“Even after persistent and earnest efforts, the accused could not be located and no one in the locality seemed to know about his whereabouts..” The reply went on..

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