Dead Body_1

Captain Fayyaz's motorcycle was roaring ahead, while Imran, sitting on the carrier, kept mumbling.

"Cotton pants… Boski shirt… pant's boski… cotton… cotton… what was it? Oh no, I forgot. Stop, buddy… stop… maybe…"

Fayyaz stopped the motorcycle.

"I forgot!" Imran said.

"What did you forget?"

"I made a mistake."

"What mistake?" Fayyaz asked irritably. "At least don't make a fool out of me."

"Maybe I'm sitting wrong," Imran said, getting off the carrier.

"Hurry up, buddy!" Fayyaz said, shaking his head.

Imran sat back on the motorcycle, this time with his back to Fayyaz, facing the other way.

"What's this?" Fayyaz asked in surprise.

"Just go, it's fine."

"For God's sake, you drive me crazy," Fayyaz said, annoyed.

"What trouble has come upon me!" Imran also started to get annoyed.

"You'll make a spectacle of me too. Sit properly!"

"So, am I sitting upside down?"

"Please, buddy!" Fayyaz pleaded. "People will laugh at us!"

"That's a very good thing."

"You'll fall face-first on the road!"

"If that's what fate has in store, then one is helpless and powerless," Imran said philosophically.

"May God deal with you," Fayyaz said, gritting his teeth as he started the motorcycle. His face was turned west, while Imran faced east! Imran was leaning forward as if he were driving the motorcycle himself. Passersby were laughing at them.

"See! I remembered, didn't I?" Imran chirped. "Cotton for the pants and boski for the shirt... I was saying all along that something was wrong."

"Imran! Why do you think I'm a fool?" Fayyaz said irritably. "At least stop this craziness in front of me."

"You must be crazy yourself!" Imran retorted, offended.

"What's the point of this charade?"

"Charade! Oh, that's incredible. Oh my! This word 'charade' reminded me of something I should have remembered a year ago."

Fayyaz said nothing. The motorcycle sped on.

"Huh?" Imran said after a while. "Why is this motorcycle running backward? What happened to its handlebar...?" Then he started screaming loudly, "Move aside... watch out... I can't see behind me."

Fayyaz stopped the motorcycle and looked at the passersby sheepishly.

"Thank God it stopped on its own!" Imran muttered as he got off, then quickly said, "Oh no! The handlebar is backward! Now even motorcycles are being made backward."

"What do you mean? Why are you bothering me?" Fayyaz said helplessly.

"Who's bothering whom? You're the one driving a backward motorcycle! What if there's an accident?"

"Come on, get on," Fayyaz said, pulling him back.

The motorcycle started again.

"Now it's running fine," Imran muttered.

The motorcycle was heading out of the city into the wilderness, and Imran still hadn't bothered to ask Fayyaz where he was taking him.

"Today, I felt the need for your help again," Fayyaz said.

"But I'm completely broke these days," Imran replied.

"Really? Did you think I was going to ask you for a loan?"

"I don't know. That's what I thought! Oh no, I forgot again! Cotton for the pants... and the shirt... oh no... boski..."

"Please shut up... Imran... you fool!" Fayyaz snapped.

"Imran..." Captain Fayyaz took a deep breath and addressed him again.

"Uh... yeah?"

"Why do you always think others are fools?"

"Because... oh, these bumps... buddy, drive on smoother ground!"

"I'm telling you, stop all this nonsense and do something sensible."

"Sensible... oh buddy, even that word is trying to remind me of something."

"Go to hell," Fayyaz said irritably.

"Okay," Imran nodded obediently.

The motorcycle stopped in front of a large and spacious building, where three or four constables were visible at the gate.

"Now get off," Fayyaz said.

"I thought maybe you were going to make me sit on the handlebar," Imran said as he got off.

They were standing in a rural area not far from the city. This was the only large building in the vicinity, which otherwise consisted of small, modest houses. The architecture of the building was of an old style, with high walls made of red bricks surrounding it and a large gate at the front, likely used as the main entrance.

Captain Fayyaz, holding Imran's hand, led him into the building. Even then, Imran did not ask why he had been brought there or for what purpose.

They passed through a long corridor and entered a room. Suddenly, Imran covered his eyes with both hands and turned away. He had seen a corpse lying face down on the floor with blood spread around it.

"Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un," he muttered in a trembling voice. "May God grant his relatives a place in His mercy and give him the strength to bear this loss."

"I didn't bring you here to offer prayers." Fayyaz said irritably.

"We could have collected donations for the funeral elsewhere; why drag me all the way here?"

"Imran, for God's sake, stop being annoying! I consider you one of my best friends," Fayyaz said.

"I think the same. But dear, I can't give more than five rupees. Right now... I have to buy boski for the cotton pants! ... What cotton... oh buddy, I forgot again! What a nuisance."

Fayyaz stood staring at him for a few moments and then said, "This building has been closed for the past five years. Isn't it surprising to find a corpse here in such a state?"

"Not at all," Imran shook his head. "If this corpse were found on a guava tree, I would consider it a marvel."

"Be serious for a moment."

"I've been somber from the beginning," Imran sighed.

"Not somber, serious!" Fayyaz snapped again.

Imran silently looked at the corpse... and muttered softly, "Three wounds."

Seeing Imran get into the mood, Fayyaz seemed somewhat pleased.

"Listen to the whole story first!" Fayyaz addressed him.

"Wait," Imran said, bending down. He examined the wounds closely for a while and then stood up and said, "Before telling the whole story, tell me what you can say about this corpse."

"It was seen today at twelve noon!" Fayyaz said.

"Huh! I don't want a more intelligent answer," Imran said, wrinkling his nose.

"I know someone inflicted three wounds on it."

"Anything else?" Imran looked at him questioningly.

"And what else?" Fayyaz replied.

"But... Sheikh Chilli the Second... i.e., Ali Imran, M.Sc., Ph.D., thinks differently."

"What?"

"If you hear it, you'll think I'm an absolute fool."

"Come on, just tell me something."

"Alright, listen! The killer inflicted the first wound! Then measured a distance of exactly five inches from the first wound to inflict the second and third wounds, making sure the woundw s were in a perfectly straight line. Not a thread's width this way or that way."