Chapter :3
Chapter 3:
What followed next was contrary to Imran's expectation, instead of
assaulting him, the old man took an apologetic tone. His voice trembled as his
anger dissolved and he began to narrate a tale, tears already welling in his
eyes recalling what had happened. Sir, " Imran said, "where is your story going
and why are you telling me th–."
"Shut up and sit still brat! " The old man roared with a voice belying his previous demeanor.
"You have broken into my house! By rights of the village, I have every
right to kill you . You asked for a punishment,
listen to the words I tell you. "
The old man coughed, stood up, took a drink of something Imran could not
identify and left the room. Soon, he reappeared brandishing a machete.
"No more interruptions" he said
with a wicked smile as he sat down and resumed.
Finally after a very long time, Imran's punishment was over and he was
able to escape from the old man.
As he was walking back to the village under the same moonlit sky, down
the familiar unpaved road, unease crept over him and Imran quickened his pace. He was sure
someone was following him!
He stopped and looked back multiple times, yet there was no one to be
seen. However, the sound of footsteps echoed beside his. Despite seeing nothing, his body reacted and
he was able to hear someone walking besides him.
A deep silence pressed on all sides as Imran hurried home, his body
trembling with fear.
Finally, he slipped inside quietly and laid on his cot, breath heavy,
heart racing as if it were a final farewell. Time slipped away recalling the
weirdness of the day.
The sun rose and set as usual. Imran stay home all day, that night, he
decided to walk.
Imran visited a deserted place—a wilderness where his friend Harry and
he often practiced spiritual rites. As dusk fell, he ate and waited for
darkness to cloak the village. No one knew where he was going; it was a secret
he kept to himself
When the black wings of night spread across the sky, Imran slipped out
like a thief and hurried toward the wilderness. Moonlight bathed the barren
land in a ghostly glow. He sat facing south, chanting the protective mantra
Baba had taught me. The ground was frozen mud, sparing my clothes from dirt.
His eyes scanned the desolate land. The stillness was eerie; shadows clung to
the wild bushes and grass, hiding a mysterious terror that made every pore on
his skin prickle.
As he chanted, his head grew heavy. He sensed someone behind him but
forced himself to focus. The mantra
steadied him and the weight lifted. The silence was peaceful, even comforting.
A slight dampness began to flow through the air. Suddenly, a faint bell echoed
far away. His gaze turned toward the sound. In the moonlight, a shadowy figure
moved quickly toward him. Then he saw them—three figures: two men ahead and an
old, weak woman behind, chained and trembling.
They cursed her harshly. She begged for mercy, her voice faint and
broken. His heart froze.
The men wore cruel smiles, mocking her plight. The woman cried for her
daughter, begging for protection, but the men laughed with arrogance
Imran wanted to rise and fight,
but the nightmare held him still. Helpless, he watched as one man raised a
large axe and severed her head in a single, brutal strike. Blood gushed and
spread on the ground. They laughed, burying her body in a hastily dug pit.
Though he saw them clearly, they did not see him
Then a voice shouted: 'Catch him! We'll bury him with the old woman!' A
man charged at Imran with the axe raised. He closed his eyes, frozen with fear, expecting death.