The Curious Case of the Missing Fleet: How 20 Government Vehicles Went on an Unofficial Vacation

 

Musarrat Ullah Jan , KikxNow Digital Creator

In a province where athletes struggle for travel allowances, grounds lack basic facilities, and coaches double as clerks, the most well-funded sports delegation appears to be… the السيارات themselves. Yes, the official fleet of the سپورٹس ڈائریکٹوریٹ خیبرپختونخوا seems to have mastered the art of strategic disappearance better than any professional magician.

According to sources, twenty government vehicles quietly slipped out of the system. No dramatic heist. No Hollywood-style chase. No tire marks. Just administrative silence. Five of these mechanical nomads have reportedly returned, perhaps homesick or low on fuel. The remaining fifteen, however, continue their mysterious sabbatical.

Let us be clear. Vehicles do not vanish. Files vanish. Accountability vanishes. Vehicles require drivers, fuel logs, maintenance records, duty rosters, and authorization slips. A car cannot simply wake up one morning, stretch its suspension, and declare independence from bureaucratic oversight. Yet here we are.

If these vehicles could speak, their travelogues would likely outsell most tourism brochures. One might be stationed outside a wedding hall, repurposed as a VIP shuttle for relatives of someone important. Another could be faithfully serving as a school drop-off service for a bureaucrat’s children. A third might be permanently parked outside a farmhouse, blending into the rural aesthetic like an overqualified scarecrow.

And somewhere, perhaps, one vehicle is still technically “on duty,” waiting outside an office whose officer was transferred three years ago.

The five vehicles that returned deserve commendation. Their sense of civic duty is admirable. Perhaps they rolled back into the compound late at night, headlights dimmed, whispering to the guard, “We made a mistake. Please don’t file a report.”

When questions were raised through a Right to Information request, the response was as elusive as the vehicles themselves. No reply. No clarification. No embarrassment. Silence, in bureaucratic dialect, is often interpreted as: “We are currently searching for both the vehicles and the paperwork that explains them.”

This silence is not neutral. It is strategic. An unanswered RTI is the administrative equivalent of putting fingers in ears and humming loudly until the problem resolves itself or the public loses interest.

But here is the flaw in that strategy: vehicles leave tracks. Fuel vouchers exist. Maintenance contractors remember which engines they repaired. Drivers talk. Guards notice. Even tea vendors outside government offices can identify which official car is permanently parked where. Institutional amnesia rarely fools those who live in its shadow.

Let us attempt some basic arithmetic, a discipline often treated as optional in administrative culture.

Total vehicles identified missing: 20

Vehicles recovered: 5

Vehicles still missing: 15

 

This is not a rounding error. This is not a clerical oversight. Fifteen vehicles represent millions in public assets. They also represent opportunity cost. Each missing vehicle could have transported athletes to training camps, delivered equipment to remote districts, or supported grassroots sports programs.

Instead, the fleet appears to have been reassigned to the highly competitive sport of Personal Convenience. Consider the irony. A hockey team from a remote district requests transport to participate in a provincial tournament. The reply: “No vehicles available.” Meanwhile, one of the missing vehicles is reportedly available daily for grocery runs.

A female athlete waits for a sanctioned trip approval. The file moves slowly. Very slowly. But somewhere in the city, a government vehicle moves swiftly, delivering furniture to a private residence.

If efficiency were an Olympic sport, the misuse of official vehicles would qualify for a podium finish.

In bureaucratic folklore, there is a phrase: “temporary attachment.” It means a resource is assigned briefly for a specific purpose. In practice, temporary attachments often outlast governments.

A vehicle attached for “field inspection” becomes permanently stationed at an officer’s residence. A car assigned for “official duty” becomes a family’s unofficial inheritance. Over time, the abnormal becomes routine. New officers assume this is how the system works. The fleet shrinks, but the paperwork remains deceptively stable.

This is how disappearance becomes policy without ever being written.

The Return of the Five`The return of five vehicles raises more questions than it answers. Why did these five come back? Who authorized their return? Where were they stationed? Why only five?

One theory is administrative weather. A sudden climate shift of scrutiny may have caused mild panic, leading to selective restitution. Another theory suggests these vehicles were easiest to retrieve because their unofficial users lacked sufficient influence.In bureaucratic ecosystems, accountability often travels downhill.

Every missing vehicle has a driver. Drivers know routes, schedules, and unofficial assignments. They are the silent archivists of institutional misuse. Yet they rarely speak, because employment in such systems requires mastering the art of selective memory.

Ask a driver where the car has been. He will say, “On duty.”

Ask what duty. He will say, “Official duty.”

Ask for documentation. He will point to a file that is either pending, misplaced, or eaten by metaphorical termites.

Fuel Without Movement

An interesting audit exercise would involve fuel consumption patterns. Vehicles that are “missing” often continue to generate fuel expenses. Petrol does not disappear. It is consumed. If a car is stationary but fuel vouchers persist, then the vehicle is either moving invisibly or the fuel is traveling without it.

 

Both scenarios deserve scientific investigation.

Administrative Hide and Seek

The ongoing absence of fifteen vehicles resembles a prolonged game of hide and seek in which only one side is playing. Citizens ask questions. Files remain quiet. Offices promise inquiries. Committees are formed. Meetings are scheduled. Minutes are recorded. Tea is served. Nothing happens.

The vehicles, meanwhile, continue their independent careers. This is not merely about cars. It is about governance culture. When public assets vanish without consequence, the message is clear: systems exist to be exploited, not managed. The cost is not limited to monetary loss. It erodes trust, demoralizes honest officers, and normalizes misconduct.

If the department cannot locate fifteen vehicles, perhaps it should issue them athlete cards and include them in the next sports contingent. At least then their travel would be officially recognized.

Alternatively, the missing fleet could be declared a new provincial team:

Team Disappearance XI

Motto: “Now you see us, now you don’t.”

Coach: Administrative Negligence

Manager: Institutional Silence

Sponsor: Public Funds

What Should Actually Happen

Satire aside, the situation demands straightforward actions:

Publish the full inventory of vehicles with registration numbers.

Release duty logs and fuel records for the past five years.

Identify officers responsible for vehicle allocation.

Initiate an independent audit.

Impose recovery and disciplinary measures.

None of this requires advanced technology. It requires intent.

In sports, performance is measured, timed, and recorded. Winners are accountable to results. Losers analyze mistakes. Systems improve.

In administration, however, assets disappear without scoreboards, referees, or penalties.

Until that changes, the most successful runners in the province will not be athletes. They will be vehicles running away from accountability. And somewhere, in a quiet सरकारी garage, an empty parking space waits patiently, like a question no one wants to answer.

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