Qadar Khan was now a transformed man. Disgraced by the accusations of faking an intellectual aura, while he was in fact using designs by China and smuggled uranium from North Korea, he fell from the revered position of being the “Father of Pak Nukes”. Whether he had done anything wrong was of no one’s concern. All he had done was express his political opinion, which was not in line with the military. He was called a copycat, and shunted from being the head of the nuclear armament wing of military research. After a short stint in jail, he was released—just to keep the nation’s credibility intact.

He returned to his lands near Peshawar, where he still was admired. But, for a person who was used to being a part of the country’s elite, being a village attraction was surely relegation, and he could not digest that fact.

His eyes that once shone with intellectual flamboyance, had become red seeking revenge on—whom he still didn’t know. He hated the army. He simply wanted to overthrow anyone who wore khakis. It became a routine that he narrated the same old story to the gathering of villagers, who would still visit his villa. His family owns nearly half of the village land, and his younger brother, who, by God’s grace, was not too educated, and was a powerful man even in the nearby villages.

Qadar’s family migrated from Karwar, a small town near Goa, in India. However, they had not migrated during the bifurcation of India. Qadar’s father was a landlord and didn’t want to lose his lands. He was not immediately threatened by the split of his nation. He waited for fifteen years, and then sold off all his land in India at a higher price before shifting his family to Pakistan. Qadar completed his schooling in India only. In fact, Qadar could not comprehend why they moved out of such a nice coastal town to Peshawar, which had an extreme climate. He missed the warmth of the sea, beaches and his friends, despite the fact that they were mostly Hindus.

However, things slowly changed for the family in Peshawar. His father bought a lot of land, and they prospered. Qadar was a sharp student and moved to the West for higher studies. When he became the chief of nuclear programmes in Pakistan, his father was very proud. He called his relatives, still in India, and told them to face the bombs that Qadar would make for Pakistan. “You don’t have a chance to stand against the might of my son,” he arrogantly remarked over the phone, with Qadar sitting by his side.

A smile flashes across Qadar’s face, and his eyes glow when he is reminded of that conversation. But all those were things of the past. Now, he was under house-arrest. He did not even marry, and focused on pursuing his study and research, though he had his share of romancing young scientists. And so, he lived alone.

His father now lived with his younger brother and no longer talked to him, further humiliating him.

Though he was nearing seventy and considered an impotent vegetable to pose any threat, in the name of security, he was guarded round the clock. Apart from the television, he was not allowed even a telephone connection. All he could do was watch television, drink whisky, and chat with harmless villagers in the presence of soldiers.

Within six months, after restrictions on his movements and being disowned by his father, Qadar became a nocturnal creature. He slept most of the day, and walked the lawns through the night. He thought of many plans to take his revenge against the establishment. In the morning, he laughed about his plans and went to bed after breakfast.

And so, he was sleeping, when Pasha came to Qadar as instructed by Jules Borg. Driving a jeep, Pasha came by himself. He presented his credentials to the guard on duty and asked to see the commander of the camp. On seeing the third-in-command, commander became attentive and apprehensive. “No records of this meeting,” Pasha instructed the commander and asked for an interview with Qadar. On knowing that Qadar was sleeping, he snapped, “Get the old pig out of his bed and present him before me in five minutes.”

Qadar, loaded with alcohol, did not respond to the attempts of the soldier, and was carried to the room where Pasha was waiting. The soldier dumped him on a sofa, smiled sheepishly at Pasha for Qadar’s condition and explained, “He sleeps during the day and drinks during the night.” Expressing his irritation, Pasha ordered cold water to be poured on Qadar. Promptly, water was first sprinkled and then poured over him. Drenched in water, Qadar woke up at last, and when he saw where and how he was, he got up and tried to slap the soldier. However, all he could manage was tumbling over the soldier. Smiling, the soldier brushed Qadar’s lean hands away and set him straight on the sofa, informing him gently that he had a visitor. Qadar looked at Pasha, opening his eyes widely. With red-streaked eyes, a thin frame and pale skin, he looked like a ghost that Pasha had seen in movies and managed to terrorise him. Qadar did not recognise him, although they had met on a few occasions in the past during his heydays. He blinked a few times before closing his eyes again.

Pasha looked at the guard, who shook Qadar again out of his sleep. Qadar waved his left hand, indicating that Pasha may leave. Shifting in his chair, Pasha bent forward, smiled at Qadar and spoke softly, “Hello! Qadar. How are you old man?”

Qadar tried to open his eyes but the sticky fluid oozing out of his eyes was preventing him from doing so. “Who are you?” questioned Qadar, “Whoever you are, go away. Come in the night.” He stretched his legs and closed his eyes. Recognising he was making a fool of himself before soldiers, Pasha gave up further attempts to wake up the scientist and asked for a room to wait until evening.

In the evening, with a small table converted into a mini bar between them, Pasha proceeded to have his interaction with the renegade scientist. He introduced himself, and promptly Qadar exhibited his arrogance. “So what if you are from army?” he continued, “First, I need proof that you are third in command in the army. And the bad thing is, if this is true, I decline to do whatever you want.”

He sipped slowly from his glass. Pasha remained silent. He had studied the file on Qadar before arrival. He expected such treatment and was prepared to face worse. He was ready to walk not one but two or three miles extra to accomplish his mission. Without such persistence, he wouldn’t have been able to become what he had become. Irritated with no reaction from Pasha, Qadar shouted, “What is it you want? I have already given you whatever I could. Let me die in peace. Get out!” A streak of tears rolled down his cheek as he recalled his former splendid life.

Pasha leaned forward, touched his shoulder and spoke softly, “Life is unpredictable, professor! The time has come for you to rise from the abyss to sky,” he walked away from the sleeping professor and instructed his lieutenant before leaving, “Let me know when he is ready for a talk.”

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