Eat the Rich

“Bano… come quickly! LOOK AT THE WATER!”

I slowly trudged my way up the hill, the ground sticky with mud making the trek tiresome. But
eventually I made it to the top of a fairly large mound of wet sand, congealed in a mixture of
small pieces of rough rock, bits of hard plastic and even washed away tree branches. The ‘hill’
was one of the few stable structures near the largest water source in Karachi. It was man-made
for the purpose of monitoring the raging sea and acting as a barrier between chaos and the last
settlements near Seaview.
“Slow down Alizey…”
Even when hiking was still a thing, back in the day, still I hated climbing up high and long
stretches of land. Especially now, since all of my once port city is submerged into water –
becoming a sort of floating island with no stable foundation. Actually, more like several small
and large floating islands connected by makeshift bridges. Each zone is known by a name that
inspires nostalgia among the people, of times gone by.
Mai Kolachi is the name of our zone – several small islands roped in together, from the
ramshackle half-drowned settlement of Gizri to the large Pepsi billboard on Seaview. The hill
atop which the two sisters stood and gazed at the gushing never-ending sea was listed outside the
zone.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
Beautiful… to me the word usually meant a setting sun behind a pillow of white clouds, turning
the sky vibrant shades of red and orange. A night sky bedecked with stars and the luminosity of
the full moon was a beautiful sight. Mighty stallions running freely on lush green grass. A cup of
freshly brewed coffee with a slice of Victorian sponge cake.
A long time had gone by since I had seen something beautiful… a lifetime gone by admiring
beautiful moments, not realizing beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder. To Alizey, my dear
sweet little sister, beauty lied in the murky and deep waters of Seaview. I guess it was the silence
she enjoyed, as well as the sound of waves crashing against rock and cement.
To me, the same waves heralded a sense of doom and gloom. The sun would shine brightly all
year long, radiating heat and warmth, if it were up to me. But alas, even then we weren’t spared
from the ravages of the climate. The winter months were long and harsh, bitingly cold.
There was not enough food to feed the many mouths barely surviving inside the ramshackle
buildings, it had been years since anything could be grown on land. Some attempts were made to
grow rice and other food items that required a lot of water but the yield wasn’t enough
considering no one had real farming expertise.
Then came the summer months bringing the dreaded monsoon with them. Worse than the rains
during winter, in Bano’s opinion. But what could they do? God had left them on their devices
ages ago, and man can never be trusted to look after those lesser than him.
“Let’s go back… it’s getting late,” Alizey frowned, and her eyes belied many emotions I
couldn’t understand.
“I don’t want to go back… can’t we go to another zone? Maybe the one in Bufferzone…”
“Why are you saying that? And how would we go there anyway? We don’t have a boat,”
“Chacha has one… or we can try to reach by the land route,”
In earlier days, reaching Gizri from our home would have taken 10 minutes at least, via car. But
the girls hadn’t sat in a car in months or even seen one driving on the roads. There weren’t any,
the roads were all submerged in water till the first floor of the buildings – making a huge area
inaccessible or even inhabitable.
Pakistan was going through the worst case of inflation in years, around the same time the mega
monsoon hit, with record breaking rains and floods. Soon, people near Seaview had to evacuate
because the once receding coastline took over the beach and touched the walls of the housing
complexes nearby. In only a few days, water levels rose and seeped inside houses and buildings.
Slowly but surely, the water spread and flooded most of Karachi, killing the very poor and
homeless instantly. Where could they go and take refuge from the calamity that befell from the
heavens?
Some said it was an azaab e Ilahi, a punishment sent from God, still other blamed the corrupt
government that had been non active before and now non existent. Rumor was it they had taken
refuge in the valleys of Kashmir, one after the other, they had fled and left their subjects.
The survivors were left to fend for themselves, and as the norm is during turbulent times, only
the strongest and resourceful could claim the right to live another day.
Was it only three years ago when everything was right with her world? Or as right living in
Karachi could get. Sure, the rains were still as deadly all over the country but it was worse in
Karachi due to the influx of climate refugees as well as already crumbling infrastructure.
“The land route… who knows if the bridge is still accessible or not. Why do you suddenly wish
to leave?”
Alizey hesitates before telling me something that I never imagined my sister would have to face.
“Malik blocked my way again a few days ago… he said he’s going to push me in the water. He
knows I can’t swim, why would he do that?”
I knew the answer… men like Malik enjoyed the power trip when they harassed women. And
yes, he was just one part of the gang of hecklers and thieves who had taken refuge with the rest
of them. Very early on, Bano had made it a point not to challenge their authority or even look at
them in the eyes for too long.
But it was becoming increasingly difficult to survive, as they had claimed their right to
leadership that bordered on anarchy. Like any character who thrived in chaos, Malik had taken
claim of the Radio Room as well as their food supply. While the tins of food and clean water
were rationed, the gang of thugs weren’t above taking favors if someone wanted more than their
due share.
“When did this happen?”
“A few days ago,”
“Alizey… why didn’t you tell me sooner? You should have told me…”
“What would you have done?”
“I dunno… maybe drive a bat between his legs or something,”
Alizey laughed at that, a sweet tinkling laugh that would be enough to warm any frozen heart.
“Yeah… this is why I didn’t tell you. We cannot take a panga with him and his goons…”
“So, leave and try our luck elsewhere?”
“Khuda nighebaan hai Bano… Chacha might actually help us.”
“Alright… but let’s go for now… I will talk to him. And if Malik ever does something like th at
again or even says something to you, tell me. Please, you have to let me know,”
Some people say promises are made to be broken or with the intention of never keeping true to
your word in the first place. Bano knew that more than anyone else. How could she not?
Bano still remembers a time when her parents had made a promise that everything will be alright
but the opposite had happened. Instead of everything being alright, she saw both her parents
floating in the water face-down, fishes nibbling at their two-day old bodies. So, she knew
keeping promises wasn’t easy in this new world.
Still, Alizey smiled and nodded in acquiescence. Yes, she could pretend to keep this promise just
so that her sister would be at ease.
***
Three days had passed and still there was no sign of Chacha or his boat. When the girls went
back to their settlement, in the hopes of talking to the old man who was an expert fisherman in
his old life, they found out something that crushed their newfound resolve.
Chacha had just left for another settlement and wouldn’t be back for a few days, if at all. So,
immediately after coming back, both sisters tried to fill their time by doing what they were
ordered by Malik.
Alizey was working in the Radio Room, answering distress calls from other settlements who
needed supplies or people, while Bano was entrusted with taking care of the ‘not sick enough
people to chuck out to the sea’.
If not for her medical degree and specialized expertise in emergency care, Bano couldn’t have
secured guarantee of life for herself and Alizey. Using what little leverage she had, the older
sister ensured the younger one was given a relatively safe ‘job’, manning the communication
device in the so-called radio room. The device sent signals and connected to other such devices,
over a radio frequency that covered 20 miles from all directions.
It was Alizey’s job to dispatch messages to the other zones, as well as maintain steady
communication. Due to this, she had intel regarding the living conditions of all the zones,
something the sisters thought would help them in their quest for freedom from Malik.
However, the wait for Chacha ultimately brought nothing but heartache and pain. On the second
day, Bano coming back to her small portion of the room after a long shift thought nothing about
Alizey or where she could be… she assumed the younger girl must be up on the roof as she
loved watching the sunset.
She thought nothing of it and slept, closely clutching the only piece of jewelry she had – a small
picture frame pendant hanging on a chain – in her palm. The letter H shining on the cover.
She woke, blurry eyed and incoherent, to pitch black darkness.
“Woah! How long did I sleep for?” Bano wondered. She couldn’t see anything but she felt
around the floor for warm flesh, lying asleep next to her. But her hand didn’t hit any part of
Alizey’s frame.
“Where could she be?”
The light switched on and the room was suddenly bathed in a glow, coming from the ceiling.
Everything was sleek - wood panels connecting frosted glass with white walls that weren’t made
from cement but a soft padded material. She looked around in horror and fascination as a ‘door’
slid open with a beep.
“Bano?”
Standing near the door was a man who looked and sounded familiar but the woman lying on the
hard floor couldn’t recognize him.
The man rushed to the woman and scooped her in his arms, walked to the bed and put her down.
She just gazed at his face, something like a memory tickling the edge of her consciousness.
She trailed her eyes and hands down to his heart, beating steadily, as he looked at her face and
gulped.
There it was… the long jagged scar Bano had gifted her long lost lover, who has come back
presumably from the dead.
Unbidden and all at once, memories of a time gone by rushed to the woman – who screamed.
What else could she do? Her world had turned upside down and downside up so many times it
was hard to make sense of anything.
But she did remember a girl’s body floating in the water, face down. She remembered the days
that followed, Malik begging for mercy as the surgical knife went right through his heart as he
lay in the recovery room.
She remembered the whiz of helicopter choppers, on the roof of their building and men coming
to the rescue of only a few impoverished souls who could be useful in the Bubble – a community
made by the high ranking and rich of the country, the cream of the crop.
She remembered being bathed in clean water and then ushered into a room where he was already
waiting. A lavish dinner with all her favorite dishes, followed by sparkling red wine and cake.
She remembered plunging a knife into his chest, just above his steadily beating heart. Stabbing
again with the butter knife, her reflection shining on the surface. Hysterical, out of control, eyes
bulging out of their sockets.
She came to herself after a few moments of disorientation, but still not quite herself.
Haris stroked the woman’s hair and hummed a tune, an old Farsi song he had picked up from
her.
Even then, she couldn’t remember his name.