Ahmed Raza Kasuri had reportedly promised a ‘surprise plus’ in the morning and by the afternoon, retired general Pervez Musharraf finally turned up in court.

At nine-thirty in the morning, the children’s library was equipped for the 23rd hearing of the treason trial. But for those who are now regulars at this trial with no beginning, the differences were evident.

Barbed wire had made an appearance and the number of containers surrounding the small building had increased exponentially. In fact, the auditorium was now surrounded by containers. The narrow windows barely let in any sunshine as red containers were placed all around.

“They have placed these containers to protect us from a bomb blast,” laughed a journalist. Security personnel (Rangers, policemen and plain-clothes officers) outnumbered all others. By the time the hearing began, policemen dressed in riot gear were standing in the courtyard in front of the auditorium. Were they there to fight the lawyers or the journalists? No one knew.

Down below, outside the main gate a few workers and supporters of Musharraf had turned up.

For the defence team, it was business as usual. When the judges walked in, Anwar Mansoor was ready to drone them with his legal arguments but he was stopped by Justice Faisal Arab who tentatively asked about the general.

“He will appear today, Inshallah,” said Mansoor.

Apart from the judges, it was hard to tell if anyone listened as he spoke.

The slightest creak of the door and most necks turned left to the entrance. Even Akram Sheikh could not help looking at the door every so often.

But the uncertainty was palpable.

One of the men looking after the security said that though all the arrangements had been made and the cars were waiting at the AFIC, the time of arrival depended on his lawyers.

However, earlier, Mansoor had told the bench that the general’s journey would depend on the security team. The eleven o’ clock break arrived without Musharraf’s arrival.

Cups of teas were gulped down as bets were placed on how this new episode of Mera Sultan would end.

As the break passed, there were hushed whispers that the Punjab and Islamabad police were bickering over a legal technicality at the hospital.

Akram Sheikh finally broke the news that the AFIC commandant was the cause of the delay. He was refusing to let the patient leave till the police took custody of him (Musharraf).

“But he is a free man,” pointed out Sheikh, adding that custody was only taken of people under arrest.

A hush fell over the auditorium.

The registrar was sent off to call the commandant, which did the trick.

After one in the afternoon, the wait was finally over. A black SUV arrived. Surrounded by tall men — in uniform and in plain clothes — a small figure walked in.

His hair showed glints of red. Did the change in hair colour take place during his stay in London or was it a more recent decision? One will never know.

As he walked to the defence side, his lawyers — the entire front row — stood up.

A female lawyer turned to the journalists seated in the row behind and said, “Stand up. Nau saal unka namak khaya hai.”

But no one stirred till the judges walked in. Musharraf raised his hand to his face — was it for a salute? It was hard to tell.

The ex-dictator did not glance at those who were there to cover the trial.

He sat on a chair as a uniformed man stood guard barely inches away; on the other side stood a lawyer, Chaudhry Fawad Hussain, constantly whispering in his ear.

The judges looked away, as if concentrating on the lawyers’ words though once or twice it seemed as if Justice Yawar Ali snuck a look at Musharraf from the corner of his eyes.

As the relieved judges announced their order, Musharraf was whisked away. The doors were locked, preventing even Musharraf’s lawyers — let alone the journalists — from exiting the auditorium after him. “It’s evident who still rules the country,” remarked an old hack.

A clichéd sentence but one that proved apt as we waited, noses pressed to the glass door, to be let out once the black SUVs had driven off.