Doctor Dread: A taste of Urdu detective noir

Editor’s Note: Born in 1928 in a small village near Allahabad, Ibne Safi aka Asrar Ahmad found his calling when he was asked to write a short detective novella every month for a magazine called Jasusi Duniya. His first novel, Dilaer Mujrim (Brave Criminal), was published in 1952, and it introduced readers to Inspector Ahmad Kamal Faridi, an Oxford-educated criminologist with a passion for disguises and forensics, and his happy-go-lucky sidekick, Sergeant Sajid Hameed. Its runaway success was first of many in a prolific literary career that includes 241 detective novels and several books of satire, humour, and poetry – and straddled national borders.  He died in Karachi in 1980 at the age of 52.

This is an excerpt from Doctor Dread (Blaft/Tranquebar Rs 200), in which the wealthy widow Begum Irshad is being blackmailed by a mysterious foreigner, even as Hameed and Faridi try to figure out why a mentally deranged man who thinks he’s an angel is being kept imprisoned in a five-story building. As bullets fly and the bodycount rises, it begins to look as though both cases may be related to the ongoing feud between the tiny, monkey-faced killer named Finch and the American arch-criminal Doctor Dread.

There was the sound of a vehicle coming to a halt, the crunch of gravel under heavy wheels, and the sound of a horse’s hooves stamping heavily on the ground. Shaheena opened the window and looked out, but could see nothing on account of the darkness that enveloped the grounds of the bungalow. She had given instructions for the porch light to be kept burning all night, but the servants seemed to have ignored her orders. She moved away from the window, determined to fight it out with her mother tonight.

For the past several nights, Begum Irshad had been coming home very late, using the horse and carriage instead of the car for her nocturnal excursions. It was unusual enough that she was staying out so late, let alone using the carriage, which no one had never seen her ride before. It was Shaheena who had a penchant for using the carriage; she often rode it in the evenings for pleasure.

Shaheena left her room and walked through a corridor to the outer verandah. Someone was stepping onto the verandah from the porch. She could see nothing more than a vague shadow against the background of dim starlight.

“Who’s there?” Shaheena’s voice was trembling.

The shadow stopped moving.

“Who’s there? Answer, or… or I’ll shoot!” she bluffed.

“Shaheena?” came a low, hoarse voice.

“Mummy? Mummy, is that you?”

The shadow passed her and disappeared into the dark corridor.

Shaheena followed the shadow into a room, where the lights were switched on—by her mother.

Begum Irshad was wrapped from head to foot in a dark cloak; only the upper part of her face was visible. She did not look her daughter in the eye. Her lips were cracked and dry, and her face was pale.

“Mummy! I’m shocked…” Shaheena said quietly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, you know. I… I just had to go out on an important errand.”

“But you never used to take the horse and carriage.”

“Just a whim, I suppose.”

“And I can’t help but notice, you’ve been coming home very late these days.”

“Go to bed. Go; this isn’t any of your business,” Begum Irshad said, irritated.

“If I didn’t come until nine o’clock at night, you would make it your business.”

“Go to bed, child. Leave me alone, for God’s sake.”

“I’ve also noticed that you’ve been looking nervous and worried for several days now.”

“Shaheena, please go to your room, dear. I don’t feel well enough for this discussion at the moment.”

“What is it that you’re hiding from me, Mummy? I don’t think you’ve ever kept secrets from me before.”

“Secrets? I have no secrets from you, dear girl. Actually, the truth is… I think it’s just nervous tension.”

As soon as she said this, the harassed look disappeared from Begum Irshad’s face; she appeared calmer now that she had found a plausible excuse for her strange behaviour. She drew a deep breath and went on, “Sometimes staying at home feels oppressive. So I take the buggy out and go for a longdrive.” She paused for a second or two, then cracked a smile.

“You’d be surprised. I drive the buggy myself!”

“But why don’t you consult a doctor?”

“It’s just some temporary mood swings, I think. I’m quite all right otherwise. Nothing has really happened to justify consulting a doctor.”

Begum Irshad’s explanation obviously didn’t satisfy Shaheena. On the contrary, she was even more worried now than before.

“Go… go back to bed,” Begum Irshad repeated gently. Shaheena kissed her mother on the forehead and left the room. She walked down the long corridor towards her own bedroom, switching the lights off one by one.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of stealthy footsteps. She stopped and stood still. It sounded as though some­one was walking out through the hallway to the main door, which opened to the outer verandah. She stood in the dark, quiet and motionless.

The sound of footsteps ceased. Shaheena now moved carefully towards the main door, but she did not switch on any lights. She saw the dark shadow again on the porch; it could be none other than Begum Irshad. She was still wrapped in her dark cloak. Shaheena stood, hugging the wall and making no sound. She observed the shadow as it stepped off the porch onto the open lawn.

Then it turned toward the part of the grounds where the animals were kept. Shaheena crept out and followed her mother, keeping close to the wall; her dress often caught on the thorny bushes, slow­ing her progress, but she was careful to avoid being seen by Begum Irshad.

Hidden behind the jasmine hedge, which was as tall as a man, she could see her mother clearly; but her mother would not have been able to see her, even if she had deliberately turned around to look. The hedgerow ended near the animals’ enclosures, where her mother had stopped.

“You have been far too slow,” Shaheena heard a man’s voice say, in English. There was silence for a few seconds, and Shaheena could hear the loud beats of her own heart.

Then she heard her mother speak: “I can’t do it.”

“You have no choice,” the man answered.

There was no answer from Begum Irshad.

“Speak. Why are you silent? Could nothing be done even today?”

“No,” her mother said.

“Then your darkest days are now upon you.”

“Please… please don’t ruin me.”

“It’s not in my hands. You’re the one who will be the cause of your own ruin.”

“Oh God, oh God! What should I do?”

“You should do what you’ve been asked to do,” the man said coldly, “for you must be aware of my power! I’ve made a woman of your status go wandering around on foot through the city’s stinking alleys.”

“Please, have some mercy,” Begum Irshad implored.

“I am capable of mercy, but on the condition that my orders are strictly carried out. And by the way—you’ll never find him. He is alive, though; don’t delude yourself with the notion that he is dead.”

Silence ensued. Shaheena could feel her heart thump­ing and the blood pulsing through her head. She opened her eyes wide, trying to catch sight of her mother’s tor­mentor, but she saw no one. Then she saw her mother going back to the house. In a little while Shaheena heard the front door close.