Syed Majid Gilani
Back in the late 1980’s, the lanes of Court Road, Lal Chowk, Srinagar, were full of life. Shoppers bustled, voices mixed with the calls of vendors, and the rhythm of daily trade filled the air. Amid this lively chaos stood M/ S Sajad Enterprises, a well-known crockery shop admired for its beautiful, high-quality wares.
After retiring from government service, my grandfather, Syed Abdul Rashid Gilani, joined hisbrother’s shopto manage accounts and sales. His disciplined nature and sharp eye kept everything in perfect order.
His brother, the owner of the shop, was still in government service and could attend the shop only in the evenings and on public holidays. Therefore, my grandfather ran the shop throughout the day, handling every sale, every customer, and every delicate piece of crockery with quiet care.
However, beneath this calm routine, a strange mystery had begun to unfold. Every few weeks, one or two expensive items would disappear. No break-ins. No damage. Just missing.
At first, it seemed like an honest mistake—perhaps a miscount. Nevertheless, when the disappearances continued, worry turned into suspicion. Soon, suspicion began to fall on everyone who walked through the shop door.
One fine morning, a thought came to my grandfather as he pondered who could be behind the mysterious disappearances. He remembered how a woman with an unsettling appearance had visited the shop many times, always with the same careful appearance and her attentive children. She would examine the costly crockery, handle it gently, ask questions, and keep him engaged in showing different items—but never buy a single one.
Slowly, a suspicion began to take shape in his mind: could she and her children be the ones responsible for the missing items that had puzzled him for so long?
Something about her behaviour, however, did not feel right. Her eyes moved quickly, her visits were timed too perfectly, and her children seemed unusually alert—moving about the shop with the discipline of a practiced routine. Slowly, a suspicion took root in my grandfather’s mind: could this woman and her children be behind the mysterious thefts?
However, he had no proof. Accusing a woman without evidence was risky—and my grandfather was far too wise to act quickly. Therefore, he decided to watch, wait, and plan.
That evening, he came home carrying something unexpected—a brick wrapped carefully in a bag. I still remember the puzzled faces of our family. I was a schoolboy then, watching curiously as my grandfather placed it beside him. When asked why he had brought a brick from outside, he simply said he needed to take it to the shop the next day — and smiled. It was clear he was planning something.
The next morning, his plan quietly took shape. He placed anattractive carton in the shop, beautifully decorated with pictures of fine crockery. From the outside, it looked rich, tempting, and valuable—the kind of thing a thief’s eyes would not miss. However, inside the carton, there was only that brick. He set it in a corner where anyone could take it unnoticed—even while the shopkeeper’s eyes were elsewhere.
Days passed. Then, one afternoon, the familiar woman walked in again with her children. As always, she asked about expensive crockery displayed on the distant shelves. Her tone was soft, her timing perfect.
My grandfather played along, answering patiently, pretending not to notice what her children, the little helpers were doing behind him. Moreover, just as he had expected, while she kept him talking, her children quietly lifted the decorated carton and slipped out of the shop. Moments later, she too left—without buying a thing.
When my grandfather turned and saw the carton missing, he did not shout. He simply smiled—calm, steady, certain that the moment had come.
He stepped outside and called after the woman. The sudden firmness in his voice made her stop. A few nearby shopkeepers turned, sensing something unusual, and gathered around.
When he asked about the carton, she tried to act clever. She claimed she had bought it elsewhere and accused my grandfather of misunderstanding her. Her tone grew louder, trying to draw sympathy from the crowd.
My grandfather stood silent for a moment, his gaze steady. Then, in a voice that carried across the crowd, he said, “If this carton is truly yours, open it—right here, before everyone. Inside, there is no crockery… only something that will surprise us all.” People looked at each other in surprise. The woman’s face turned pale. The crowd fell silent. Someone brought the carton forward. It was opened, and inside, instead of crockery, lay the single brick—plain and heavy.
My grandfather calmly explained that he had placed the brick inside on purpose, to catch the thief who had been stealing from his shop for months.
The woman’s defences fell instantly. She broke down and confessed. With trembling hands and tearful eyes, she admitted that, she had been stealing from several shops in the area, and had never been caught before. She begged my grandfather not to call the police.
The market erupted in applause and laughter—admiration for the quiet genius of a man who had outwitted a thief not with anger or force, but with patience and intelligence.
From that day onward, the woman thief was never seen again on Court Road. Moreover, the story of how my grandfather caught the clever thief with nothing more than a brick became a legend—told and retold by shopkeepers at Court Road for years since then.
It was not just a tale of theft and cleverness—it was a timeless reminder that true intelligence needs no noise, only patience, wit, and trust in one’s own mind.
(The author is a government officer. His writings reflect family values, moral lessons, and real-life experiences—tales that celebrate intelligence, wit, and human understanding. He can be reached at [email protected])
