Ibn_e_Ramadan

The "Imran Series" by Ibn-e-Safi is a renowned collection of Urdu spy novels, centered around the character Ali Imran, a secret agent working for the secret service of an unnamed country. The series, started in the early 1950s, blends elements of mystery, adventure, and humor, creating a unique and captivating narrative style.

Ali Imran, the protagonist, is portrayed as a deceptively goofy and frivolous character, often underestimated by his adversaries due to his seemingly inept behavior. However, beneath this facade lies a brilliant and cunning mind, making him an exceptional detective and spy. Imran operates under various aliases and employs an eclectic team of assistants to tackle criminal masterminds, thwart espionage plots, and unravel complex mysteries.

The series features a rich array of recurring characters, including Imran's loyal sidekicks like Joseph Mugonda, a strongman with a gentle heart, and the beautiful yet deadly Julia. Each novel introduces readers to new villains and intricate plots, keeping the stories fresh and engaging. The blend of action, intrigue, and humor, along with Safi's vivid and witty writing, has earned the "Imran Series" a cherished place in South Asian literature, continuing to captivate readers across generations.

Disclaimer: I'm not the writer of this series. The original writer was actually "Asrar Ahmed" and he wrote this beautiful series of novels by the alias of "Ibn-e-Safi" (1928-1980). The original series was in Urdu language. I'm a big fan of "Ibn-e-Safi" and "Imran Series". I wanted to bring this series to global readers, so I am translating it into English and putting it on this large platform.

Imran Series by Ibn_e_Safi

That same night, a bewildered Imran arrived at Fayaz's house! Fayaz was getting ready to sleep. At such a moment, if it had been anyone else instead of Imran, they would have behaved very rudely. But Imran was different. Thanks to him, he had obtained some documents today that the intelligence department had been searching for a long time. Fayaz called him into his bedroom.

"I have come to ask just one thing!" Imran said.

Imran sighed deeply. "Will you visit my grave sometimes?"

Fayaz felt like banging his head against the wall to actually send Imran to his grave! Instead of saying anything, he kept glaring at Imran.

"Ah! You're silent!" Imran said like a disappointed lover. "I understand! Maybe you have fallen in love with someone else."

"Rahman, you son of Rahman!" Imran quickly corrected.

"Why are you making my life miserable?"

"Oh, is your lady sleeping in another room?" Imran said, looking around.

"Stop talking nonsense! Why have you come at this hour?"

"To show you a love letter," Imran said, pulling an envelope from his pocket. "Her husband isn't there, only her father."

Fayaz took the envelope from his hand and wanted to tear it in frustration.

"Yes, yes!" Imran said, grabbing his hand. "Hey, first read it, my dear. If you don't enjoy it, the postage is on me!"

Reluctantly, Fayaz took out the letter... and as soon as his eyes fell on it, all signs of irritation vanished from his face, replaced by astonishment. The letter was typed.

"Imran—if that leather handbag or anything inside it reaches the police, you'll be in deep trouble! Return it... it's better for you, otherwise, you will surely meet death somewhere... at some place. Meet me near the racecourse at eleven tonight. You must have the handbag with you! Come alone! Even if you bring five thousand men with you, the bullet will still hit your chest."

After reading the letter, Fayaz looked at Imran.

"Give it back; I'll return it!" Imran said.

"You're scared," Fayaz started laughing.

"I almost had a heart attack," Imran said, touching his nose.

"Revolver?" Imran said, plugging his ears with his fingers. "Oh, dear God."

"If you don't have one, I'll get a license for you."

"Just spare me!" Imran said, making a face. "It makes noise and emits smoke! My heart is very weak! Just give the handbag back."

"What childish things are you saying?"

"So, you won't give it?" Imran said, glaring.

"Stop talking nonsense. I'm feeling sleepy."

"Oh, Mr. Fayaz! I'm not married yet, and I'd prefer not to die before becoming a father."

"The handbag has been sent to your father's office."

"Then he'll have to shed tears over his young son's corpse! Confucius said so."

"Go, man, for God's sake, let me sleep."

"It's only five minutes to eleven," Imran said, looking at his watch.

"Fine, just sleep here," Fayaz said helplessly. There was a moment of silence, then Imran asked, "Is there still a guard around the building?"

"Yes!... A few more men have been added, but why are you doing all this? The officers ask me the reason, and I keep deflecting."

"Okay, get up! Let's end this game right now! We'll reach there in thirty minutes, and the remaining twenty-five minutes! Everything should be done by eleven-fifteen!"

"I'll tell you by eleven-thirty! Get up! Right now, I envision your rank rising."

"Why? Is there something special?"

"Ali Imran, M.Sc., Ph.D., never talks about ordinary things. Got it? Now get up!" Reluctantly, Fayaz changed his clothes.

A little later, his motorcycle was speeding toward the rural area where the building was. Upon reaching near the building, Imran said to Fayaz,

"You only need to keep the caretaker of the grave engaged in conversation until I return. Got it? Go to his room and don't leave him alone even for a second."

Midnight Intrigue