A Diamond Is
Forever
By Rafiq Ebrahim
Glen Ellyn IL
Hidden behind a jumbo
glass of Lassi, Ustad Bilgrami was sitting buried
in deep thoughts in the cafeteria of my friend Minocher’s
Writer’s Club. He greeted me cheerlessly and
waved me to sit next to him. Obviously, something
was weighing heavily on his mind. I ordered for
some coffee and he took out from his pocket a small
stone wrapped in a tissue.
“What do you think it is?” he asked.
“Looks like a precious stone, a diamond worth
an enormous sum of money.” I replied.
“Ha!” he exclaimed. “ Your knowledge
of most things is limited. Can’t you see that
this is a cheap imitation?”
“I don’t care what it is as I am not
at all interested in gems and stones. My talents
lie in creative writing and advertising.”
“Ha, ha!” he laughed shortly. “Eighty
per cent of the advertising you are exposed to is
forgotten within twenty-four hours, so they say.
All of the ads created by you in the past fall under
this category.”
He was getting harsh and was once again harping
on his favorite subject of belittling me. I think
the waiter who was filling my cup also heard his
comments about me, as I could detect a slight movement
of his Hitler-like moustache mocking me. I wouldn’t
have taken this from any one else, but Ustad Bilgrami
was an exception. He had earned a life-long respect
from all of us who were his students decades ago,
when he was our sports coach in the college. Besides
his official duties, he helped us solve our personal
problems in a jiffy and guided the naïve youths
towards the path of success. No problem was insoluble
for him. Even today in his eighties, his only passion
is to help people in distress.
“Okay, now let me know what ails you? Can
I be of any help?” I asked.
“ What bothers me is that how can a person
whom you trust stoop so low in his pursuit of material
things? Faiza, a daughter of a departed friend,
a genuine social worker, inherited a rare piece
of diamond worth millions of rupees from her father.
She wanted to evaluate the exact price, hence trusted
her uncle Haji Arbab, a famous jeweler to find out
its worth. This guy duped her, substituted the real
thing with a cheap stone. I have been racking my
brains on how to restore the diamond to her.”
“Didn’t you eat enough fish and drank
sufficient quantity of lassi?” I asked, as
I was sure that the only reason why this eighty-four
year old Ustad was still mentally alert and physically
agile was because of his fondness of these foods.
He looked at me sternly for a moment and said, “I
have an appointment with this Haji Arbab this afternoon
at his shop on Tariq Road, and I want you to accompany
me. You will pose as a diamond expert from USA,
eager to buy rare stones.”
“Me! A diamond expert?” I gasped.
“Nothing to worry about. I will teach you
the basics. All you have to say when he shows you
the diamond is that it is a fake.”
Haji Arbab’s air-conditioned jewelers shop
was brightly lit and glittered with all sorts of
jewels in the showcases. He had a swarthy complexion
and a swollen face with black and white beard. He
had put on a white shalwar-kameez with a black waistcoat,
and looked with piercing eyes through gold-rimmed
spectacles. As soon as he had dealt with a lady
customer, he invited us to his inner chamber where
I suppose he had kept rare, valuable pieces. “What
can I show you, Sir?” he asked me, ignoring
the extended hand of Ustad Bilgrami.
“I am interested in buying a few precious
stones.” I could not finish, as Ustad broke
in, “This guy Rafiq is a fellow of the Gemological
Institute of America, on tour of various countries
to buy rare diamonds for the Institute. Can you
show something really wonderful?”
He took out a small velvet case from a drawer and
opened it. It contained a diamond looking very much
similar to the one Ustad had shown me earlier. I
picked it up and acted on the instructions of Ustad.
Putting a magnifying loupe I carefully inspected
the diamond. This was something real. Even to a
layman like me it looked brilliant and magnificent.
Still looking at it, I said, “The 4 Cs –
cut, clarity, carat and color. Oh yes, I see. Good,
but wait, I see a very little speck of brown at
the bottom that disturbs its clarity. My God, this
is a fake!”
“What!” yelled Haji and Ustad at the
same time. Ustad jumped up, grabbed the diamond
and the magnifying loupe from my hand and almost
danced around quickly. Looking at the diamond, he
said, “I am afraid, this gemological expert
is right. This is an imitation, which you wanted
to sell as a genuine one. Bad, too bad! Do you know
how your reputation will be blurred? This expert
will submit a report to the Institute saying that
a jeweler in Karachi by the name of Haji Arbab tried
to dupe him. The report will be translated in seventeen
languages and sent to all the diamond capitals in
the world. Come on, Rafiq, let’s get out of
here..” Saying so, he caught my hand and we
were out of the shop, leaving Haji Arbab open-mouthed
and in a daze.
Back at the hotel in my room, Ustad put the stone
on a table and asked, “What do you see?”
“Didn’t you show this to me before?”
“Not this one. This one is what you saw at
the Haji’s shop. It is genuine, the one that
Faiza inherited and according to my estimate worth
at least three million rupees. A Princess cut diamond,
very well cut. It internally reflects light from
one mirror-like facet to another and reflects it
through the top of the stone, resulting in a display
of brilliance and fire. Do you know how many cuts
are there? Round, Princess, Oval, Pear, Marquise
“Enough!” I cut him short. “ Did
you actually switch the diamonds? And when did you
do that?”
“As soon as you announced that it was a fake
and I grabbed it from you. Didn’t you see
me dance around?”
“But didn’t Arbab see you do that?”
“Quickness of the hand deceives the eye. Now
I’ll restore it to its original owner.”
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