Sojourn at Adiala

Bol News’s investigative reporter Shahid Aslam recounts his experiences at Rawalpindi’s historic jail

Lahore: January 17. Tuesday. I was brought to the Rawalpindi Central Jail – popularly known as the Adiala Jail – in a police van at 2:30 pm along with Dr Aman Ullah of the Polyclinic Hospital. It took the van around one hour to reach the place from a magistrate’s court in Islamabad. Adiala is a small town where this sprawling jail, spreading over an area of 70 acres, is located.

Earlier in the day, Judicial Magistrate Omar Shabbir remanded me to jail for 14 days in a case related to leaking of the tax details of some family members of former army chief Gen Qamar Javed Bajwa

On January 13, the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) arrested me from my residence in Lahore during a raid in which around two dozen people including FIA employees and officials in plain clothes took part. I was later shifted to the agency’s lockup at G-13 sector of the federal capital.

Interestingly, I was never nominated in the case registered on December 15, 2022 against alleged leak of the Federal Board of Revenue (FBR) data. The FIA had neither summoned me nor issued me any notice before making the arrest.

“Custody, Care and Control”, a slogan written at the entrance of the main building of the jail, welcomed us. This is the building where every inmate is thoroughly searched and his data is registered.

An amount of Rs3,800 was on me at the time of the arrest. The official at the entrance issued me a parchi [receipt] against the amount as cash is not allowed inside the jail.

“It is your ATM. You can order whatever you need from a store located outside of the jail a day in advance through this parchi. The items would be delivered the next day,” the official told me.

“Welcome to Adiala,” the official said with a smile as he handed me the receipt. He told me that he had seen me on TV screens after my arrest. I was photographed twice like every prisoner. “Did you also take pictures of former prime minister Nawaz Sharif when he was convicted in the Panama case and sent here,” I asked.

“Yes”, he replied. “We did that but obviously in a dignified manner as he was a former premier.”

Surprisingly, my fingerprints were not taken and I was allowed to proceed.

After about 40 minutes, I was free to enter the jail premises where the barracks, hospital, kitchen, mosques, fields and parks are located. The Adiala jail was commissioned in 1986 with a capacity of around 2,000. However, at the moment more than 6,000 inmates are held there.

According to the Punjab Prison Department’s website, Punjab had inherited 19 jails at the time of independence whereas 21 more jails were established in the province after 1947. Presently, there are 40 functional jails in Punjab including one high security prison, 9 central jails, 25 district jails, two Borstal institutions and juvenile jails, one women’s jail and two sub jails.

The Adiala jail deputy superintendent came to me and deputed one of his staffers to accompany me to Aamdi Kamra, the arrival room. From a large iron gate, I entered the main area of Adiala. To my left were B-Class barracks, usually allocated to politicians, bureaucrats, police officers, armed forces officials and sometimes also to businessmen. In front of the barracks, there is a large park. On the other side of the park, there is a huge kitchen where tons of food is cooked daily. Next to the kitchen is a place with phone booths from where prisoners are allowed to contact their loved ones once a week for 30 minutes.

The jail official initially took me to the hospital located on the back side of the B-Class where a doctor did a “checkup” by asking if I have been suffering from any disease like sugar or blood pressure and if I take any medicines. I replied to both the questions in the negative. That’s it. My medical was done and dusted like every other prisoner. The doctor did not even bother to check my pulse. After the medical examination I proceeded to my barracks.

On my way to the arrival room, I reached a chakkar—large park in front of various barracks—where prisoners were busy doing various exercises and jail officials were basking in the sunshine. “Jail is a test for the innocent and a punishment for the sinner,” said a quotation written on a wall near the chakker. Even the jail authorities know that not every inmate is a criminal, I thought.

After a little walk, I entered 6/4—6 being the barracks’ number and 4 being the number of the room, which was also the Aamdi Kamra, the arrival room.

The Adiala Jail has eight barracks and each barracks has six rooms. Each room has a capacity of 38 but around 80 to 100 inmates live in each of them.  Every day 70 to 80 new prisoners are brought to the 6/4 and I was the first inmate that day to arrive there.

“I have been waiting for you for the past few days,” said Faisal Mushaqati—a convict—to my surprise when I introduced myself. How did you know I was coming to this place soon? I asked. “Three other people booked in this case [of tax details leaks] have already been brought here,” he said.

Faisal has been serving a jail term along with his four brothers. He is convicted and accused in a slew of cases including that of a murder. He said he interacts with 70 to 80 new people daily and he has a lot of information related to various cases.

Around 70 new prisoners arrived in the arrival room that day. By the evening, Faisal and I had become friends as if we knew each other for ages. “Tomorrow you will be sent to the High Security Zone because of the nature of your case. If anything happens to you inside [the jail], it will have far reaching consequences,” Faisal said.

I smiled: “I have been sent here and I don’t care in which cell they lock me in.”

Faisal was, however, not impressed. “You lost your original smile the moment you were handcuffed. Now, you’re just trying to hide emotions but your smile is fake,” he told me.

Kamran Mughal, the bureau chief of K-21 channel at Islamabad also joined me in the room a bit later. Mughal said he was arrested at the behest of some powerful businessmen related to real estate whose cheating and fraud he had been exposing through his investigative reports.

By 7pm, the room was locked and all the inmates were offered meals. It had chicken gravy and roti and it had a good taste. On the first night at Adiala, I couldn’t sleep till 2am.

The next morning, everybody was up by 6am and later tea and roti were served as breakfast. Afterwards, a Mushaqatti—a term used for convicted prisoners who perform various duties inside a jail—asked us to gather at a community hall for Molahza, an introductory meeting with jail authorities.

In the hall there was a panel of psychologists which interviewed each new prisoner, asking them if they were suffering from any disease or subjected to any torture or maltreatment at the jail.

I noticed that the entire system of the jail was being run by these Mushaqattis.

Later, the new inmates were instructed to get in a queue for an audience with the jail superintendent and deputy superintendent.  It looked like a scene from the court of a monarch as two policemen held the prisoner by the arm during this brief interaction with the jail officials.

At his turn, every prisoner would tell the officials his name, his father’s name and the nature of the case, usually in one long sentence. However, when I was brought before the gentlemen, they inquired about my case in detail while chuckling from time to time.

Superintendent Asad Warraich’s smile made me suspect that he had more knowledge about the case than I. “In which barracks do you want to stay for the remaining nights?” asked Warraich.

My obvious choice was 6/4 as I wanted to interact with more and more prisoners coming to Adiala. “You’re our special guest. Don’t hesitate to ask what else you need,” the superintendent said, while asking his staff to take care of me.

By noon, I was taken back to 6/4 and we had daal mash and roti for lunch. The meal was delicious and I told Faisal that I was not going anywhere till my bail was accepted.

On the second night at Adiala, we ate chicken gravy with potato slices with roti. That night, Faisal, I and a couple of other inmates played cards till 1am.

On Thursday, Faisal’s brother came at breakfast and told me that my bail had been accepted a day earlier (on Wednesday) and that I was going to be freed soon.

After breakfast, we moved out in the sunshine and roamed around the jail.

A convict, Ahad*, told me that Adiala is a political jail which feeds all jails of the province. “Prisoner can walk freely inside the jail only if they pay money,” he added.

According to Ahad, every new prisoner is intimidated to extract as much money from him as possible. “Financial status of every new prisoner is assessed by the time he reaches the arrival room and the jail authorities demand money from him as per his status.”

Ahad believed that the majority of the prisoners are innocent as departments such as police, the FIA, NAB and others book innocent people more. “Jail is a breeding ground for criminals as gangs are formed here. Criminals do operate from inside the jail through their networks outside,” he claimed. He said drugs can easily be acquired inside the jail provided that you have enough money to pay bribes.

He highlighted the fact that the prison does not have any western commode and due to this lacking the prisoners with disabilities have to suffer a lot. “There is also a shortage of medicines here,” he added.

At 3:15pm on Thursday, I was asked to come out of the barracks as Advocate Ahad Khokhar, one of the members of my legal team headed by Advocate Mian Ali Ashfaq, had arrived with Robakar, the judicial order for the release of a prisoner. I came out of the historical Adiala Jail by 3:30pm after a brief imprisonment of 48 hours.