Akbar Khan knew well the harsh realities of life, realities that had branded him and defined his path. He knew that standing alone in the wilderness of despair, shunned by God, men often found themselves contemplating dangerous things. When children writhed in hunger, their mothers suppressing their screams, when debt collectors knocked on doors, when elderly parents with eyes full of dead dreams turned to you for hope when you yourself had none, you had to find a way to keep standing. Carrying the burden of family, their hopes bearing down, men turned to cigarettes and beedi, and all methods of intoxication, to escape the reality of poverty and despair…even when that intoxicant dried up their veins and ate up their souls. And it was through this deep understanding of man’s struggle that Akbar Khan had found himself supplying substances of all criminal classifications. And as he stood before the God of Abraham and Moses, of Jesus and of Muhammad, Akbar Khan felt his heart to be unblemished, because he knew he was providing for his people and fulfilling their needs.

That battered old suitcase on the shelf above his starched, crisp shirts belonged to another Akbar and another Khan. One that he had long since buried to serve his people.

He turned his head to the right and then to the left – ‘Asalaam-o-alaikum wa rahmatullah’ – praying for prosperity and peace in the world. The world he inhabited believed the Khan would never bow before another man. It was a necessary belief. Akbar Khan understood this well. He knew that people would be prepared to ignore the flaws of their masters if they believed their icons were born to serve a higher purpose. Because people were weak and truth was only for the brave.

He reached over to roll the prayer mat up and then stopped, running his fingers over its faded patches. The rug needed replacing, worn away at the place where his forehead touched it in prostration and frayed where his feet rested when he stood; it served as a reminder of all the nights he had spent in prayer. Especially after having someone killed. And there had been many such nights. Akbar Khan’s business interests led and fed the city and most of its people. They would not survive without him. Those who called his dealings ‘illicit’, his associates ‘criminal’ and his methods ‘illegal’, what did they know about hunger? What did they know about survival? About seeing the life leave your sister, tiny in your arms, as you weep and beg the doctor to save her but he coldly turns away because you cannot pay his fees?