‘I stayed at Pathar ki Masjid Lane, Sultangunj, in Patna City. The college was some … er … twenty or thirty kilometres away, sir. I know my classmates, of course, and the teachers. Ahmed sahab … Ahmed sahab was my immediate neighbour. Inteqal ho gaya kuch saal pehle. His family is now in Riyadh. I don’t have their numbers.’

Shekhar scoffed. ‘Your parents and neighbour are dead. The dead neighbour’s family is abroad. What a story, Farhan. What is your mother’s maiden name? When did you complete the engineering course?’

‘I completed my engineering course in 1992, from Abdul Bari Islamia Engineering College. Rasheeda was my mother’s name.’

‘Classmates’ names? What was your roll number?’

‘Roll number fifty-six. Tariq Khan, Ahmed Nabi, Muzammil Ansari and Anwar Sheikh were my classmates. I no longer have their numbers.’

Shekhar spoke to one of the co-interrogators in the room. ‘Anvay, call up the principal of his college and get the current contact numbers of a few students of the 1992 batch. Check the original roll number fifty-six’s mother’s name.’

Shekhar turned to Salim. ‘You are in big trouble, my friend. You will now see how we call your bluff. ’

For a few moments, Salim kept staring at Shekhar, then shifted his gaze to a point on the granite floor. Minutes later, during which no one spoke in the lock-up, it was Salim who broke the silence. ‘Sir, I need a cigarette,’ he said in impeccable English.

Shekhar took out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and passed it to Salim. He gave him his tiny red lighter as well. Salim picked out a cigarette and returned the pack.

Suddenly, Anvay rushed in. ‘Sir, roll number fifty-six’s name was Salim, of course, but he is dead. The college keeps no record of a student’s mother’s maiden name but the principal knew the mother of Salim, the one who is now dead. The principal and roll number fifty-six’s mother had studied together in college. Roll number fifty-six’s mother’s name was Saleema. Not Rasheeda.’

A smile spread on Anvay’s face as he glared at Salim. ‘This rascal’s cover is blown. His handlers had prepared him well but that was not enough.’

Shekhar was smiling too but said nothing. He lit up a cigarette. ‘Salim, are you the ghost of roll number fifty six?’ he asked. Salim said nothing. He asked for another cigarette instead. For the next five minutes, the captor and captive blew out plumes of white smoke. Salim smoked as if he had all the time in the world and was at home.

On finishing his cigarette, he was quiet for a few minutes. He snapped his fingers at Anvay, then turned to Shekhar. ‘Janaab, what do you want? I will tell you.’

Shekhar was waiting for this moment. ‘Which district in Pakistan do you belong to?’

‘I am from the holy land, Pakistan.’

‘Which district in Pakistan?’

‘Bahawalpur.’