Musa’s Interview

            After being accused of attempted murder in Pakistan, for allegedly throwing rocks at the police, little nine month old Musa Khan finds himself being interviewed by a Times Newspaper reporter. His situation came to a head when police and gas company workers were attempting to placate an angry mob who had gathered to protest gas cuts and price increases. We now join the interview in progress.    

            “Yes, next question please, the man from the Times…you without the turban and beard.”

            “Ok, yes, Little Musa, tell me please what you felt when you first heard of your impending arrest on a charge of attempted murder, by throwing rocks at the police.”

            “Well, to tell you I was flabbergasted would be an understatement of the nth degree. I mean, seriously, how far do you think I could throw a rock? Was I even aware of what a rock is?  My arms and biceps are not fully developed yet, not to mention my ability to aim, or even stand up on my own. I could not hit the broad side of a Mosque.  All I remember is that there I was with a full diaper, lots of noise going on, the smell of curry everywhere, and my father screaming and yelling. I recall looking over the crowd of angry, volatile police and gas company workers and thinking that this is a one hell of a collection agency.”

            “I see, and what happened then?”

            “Well, I remember watching mom wind up like a semi-professional cricket player and lobbing something toward the police. Alas, she was pitifully short with her throw, because as you are well aware, women are not allowed to participate in sports here in Pakistan, and her throwing arm is quite weak. You know, not to be disrespectful to my mom, but she kinda throws like a girl.”

            “Ok, I can picture that. What happened next, Musa?”

            “Well, it was like the wrath of Allah came down upon us like a heavy rain, and the police had all the umbrellas. They started chasing us and beating us with their batons. I was bouncing around like a lotto ball on Saturday night as Grampa ran for safety.”

            “It must have been quite a harrowing experience for all of you.”

            “Let me tell you, I was so scared from all the noise and bouncing and running that I soiled my diaper again. That’s when they caught Gramps and arrested us. Being only nine months old I have not really had the opportunity to spend very much time in a police station (or, for that matter, anywhere else) in my life. After being booked, they separated me from my dad and Grandpa and put me in a holding cell with two goat rustlers and a gentleman waiting to be stoned to death for marrying a sheep, and allowing her to drive his car. You know, females are not allowed to drive here.”

            “Wow, you must have been petrified at this point.”

            “You said it. They left me there to stew for a while before the other formalities of arrest and my interrogation was to proceed. The others in the cell fortunately, kept their distance from me. I believe this had something to do with the aforementioned soiled diaper.  Anyway, after about an hour they came in to get me, and since I still have not learned how to walk, they carried me to the fingerprint station where a man with huge hands rolled my tiny fingers onto an ink pad and then onto the print card. All my fingers fit into the space usually reserved for just the thumbprint. I must tell you, it was quite embarrassing. I cried like a baby”

            “I can well imagine the indignity you suffered. Tell me, what happened then?”

            “Well, they carried me into the interrogation room, where after being secured to a booster seat with little tiny handcuffs, I was grilled under a very bright light for what seemed like hours, but, in actuality, was only about thirty-five minutes. It took the officials that long to accept the fact that I was not going to talk. I’m no stoolie you know. I think the interrogator sort of respected me for that and finally stopped his incessant browbeating and threats to never allow my diaper to be changed. He then gave me a bottle of yak milk formula and I was returned to my cell to await the arraignment.”

            “You certainly have endured quite a horrific experience, for one so young. Please go on.”

            “In the morning, after a very restless night, we were brought in front of the provincial law minister, Rana Sanaullah Khan (no relation), for our arraignment on a charge of the attempted murder of a police officer.  My father told them that I couldn’t even pick up my own milk. How could I possibly throw a rock? After mulling this over for two hours, the minister decided there could possibly be some truth to that and he let us out on bail, on our own recognizance. I don’t even think I’m old enough to be on my own recognizance, so this struck me as something to bring up to my defense attorney at trial.”

            “Do you think it will actually come to that? A trial, I mean, for a 9 month old baby?”

            “You know, I really didn’t think so at first, because my parents and grandfather spirited me away soon after we were released, and hid me. But, and this is a big but, my grandfather is not a very wiseman, and he told the other reporter that interviewed him that he had “spirited my grandson away to Faisalabad”. Ok, I understand that I’m only nine months old, but even I know that when trying to hide someone from the authorities, rule number one is to not tell the LaHore Gazette crime beat writer exactly where you are hiding someone. I mean, what’s the point of hiding me if my location is on the front page of the paper? Some of the police can read, you know.”

            “Yes, that does seem to be at cross purposes to your goal of being hidden. How do you think this will all play out?”

            “I’m not really sure. As you can plainly see, my family is sort of one falafel short of a combo plate when it comes to intelligence, so I have hired my own lawyer. My cousin Farsik, in Miami, recommended Roy Black, and Roy is on his way here now. I just hope that the powers that be here in Pakistan, come to their collective senses and see that I have been wronged, and keep my eventual sentence to something less than life without parole. There are so many things that I want to see and do, and a long sentence like that would definitely put a crimp in my plans.”

            “Thank you Musa for this revealing interview. We wish you all the luck in the world and hope that this has a happy ending for you and your family.” 


Rich Kirshen has lived in South Florida for his entire life, with the exception of his military service. In the US Navy he was a certified diver, making over 300 dives, and a river patrol boat captain in the Mekong Delta Region of Vietnam. His novel Vietnam War River Patrol was released by McFarland Publishing in 2017, and his self published, co-authored book Divorced After 56 Years…Why Am I Sooo Happy? was released on Amazon in 2016. He has had numerous short stories published in various anthologies. He has been married to his only, and by far, favorite wife “Mary” for forty-four years, and has two sons and three grandchildren. He owned and operated a design business in Miami Beach for thirty-seven years, before selling it and retiring, which contributed greatly to him becoming a better than average golfer, pool player, and blues harmonica player. He also volunteers time as a business mentor for SCORE.