A desperate nation is often keen on pantheons of martyrs. Chaudhary Aslam, the slain police strongman who was crucial part of Karachi’s almost mythical Operation Clean-Up, is proof of our collective despair.

Known as Encounter Specialist, Aslam’s tainted past from the 1990s, and his stint behind bars, was airbrushed into a portrait of a hero at his time of death. But while the media served up eulogies for him, many homes rejoiced in the cop’s payback time.

Strangely enough, today, this supposed anti-terror champion is just a dowel that ties the past with the present. Given the state’s penchant for political games in Karachi, such dubious tools live on with other names. So weapons are now charged at scores of Islamist targets as opposed to yesterday’s ethnic victims.

Also read: Taliban bombing kills senior police officer Chaudhry Aslam

One such home is the late Khalid Shah’s in Mominabad. Some eight months on, a sparse abode with floor seating, a large courtyard, an old mother and young families of his siblings, is still choked with grief.

However, the mention of Aslam’s brutal end illuminates their faces.

Shah, a youth in his early 30s, served as a muezzin at the Steel Mill mosque and gave private Quran lessons to children. His family refutes any charge of political affiliation for the deceased and for all his brothers.

Infographic: Chaudhry Aslam: Fighting fire with fire

“He was on his way home on Nov 5, 2013 when a car with tinted glasses picked him up in Malir. For nine long days we had no clue, despite the registration of an FIR with the Mominabad police station. Aslam accused my innocent brother of being an LJ member,” recounts his inconsolable sister, Umm-e-Hadia.

“Shafiq Tanoli took him. Khalid’s friend who was with him at that moment told us,” says the mother.

A young widow of 25 sits silently beside a pillar with three children. She is Afshan who had to return to her father as her in-laws are too impoverished to support her and the brood.

“I have lost everything. He was an umbrella for the family. Now I have an endless abyss before me. I want my children to grow up to be like their father — honest, responsible and religious.”

Afshan recounts her last conversation with her departed husband with remarkable stoicism: “My youngest was just 14 days old and the eldest, four. Khalid told me to look after myself and that he was going to Hyderabad; then the line was cut off.”

For this family, and for another five like them, the pain of loss is overshadowed by recurring images that cling to the mind like obstinate memories often do.

“Can you imagine our state when we read his name on the ticker in news bulletin? This was on November 14, and the same band with my son’s sullied name carried praise for his murderer, Aslam.”

Related: SP Chaudhry Aslam — a symbol of success for many, hatred for others

The sister then finds the fury to explain the state of Khalid’s body — tortured, perforated and bloody, it was packed in plastic with the request to keep it still for fear of organs spilling out.

“The other bodies were worse. My cousin called Aslam and got him but he said he would call back and never did.”

Sadly, the bullet’s wasn’t the worst wound. It was that moment when Chaudhary Aslam flung the death certificate at Khalid’s brother, saying: “Take your terrorist’s medal. If any of you speak out, I will ensure the same fate for you.”

“They kept his bike, mobile phone, identity card, Steel Mill employee card and wallet so his real identity never comes to light,” explains Altaf, his cousin.

Khalid’s slaughter has left his youngest sister to grapple with an uncertain future as the ignominy of being ‘a terrorist’s sister’ has kept prospects at bay.

And haunting questions are as many as the tales of pain in this neighbourhood. However, the sense of defeat has yet to set in, which makes this family peerless among violated clans.

Hadia says that she and her brothers are determined to clear Khalid of the label of ‘dehshatgard’ that is poised to stalk his children for years to come.

In pictures: Karachi's toughest cop Aslam laid to rest

“How can this murderous government not raise obvious questions? When he was taken away in Malir towards Hyderabad and kept for nine days, then how was he found in Mauripur with explosives on his bike? Why was he tortured? Why weren’t these boys tried?” she shrieks.

In the end, the story plays out like scores of its kind did over two decades ago. Hence, such a history of easy targets makes it imperative for the government to allot compensations and reopen questionable cases so families can bury their dead with honour.

Or, given the macro-compulsions involved, are we once again witnessing hopeless, imbalanced battles against a monster gone haywire?

Published in Dawn, July 1st, 2014