“Once we reach Ravalpindi, I’ll get some job there. I can do any odd job if we are together. Ravalpindi is a huge city. Nobody is going to find us there,” he said.
The two met each other near the hill of Blind Rahmada.
“We’re leaving! There is no other way out. If we don’t leave tonight, our relations will be over. We shall be very happy together, Shafia!”
Shafia hugged him and started to cry. They were sitting caressing each other for a while.
“It’s time to go!” Hazrat Vali said, “There is a long way ahead. We must put our best foot forward.”
Suddenly there came an unexpected light from the side of their village. Shafia was thrown back to the rocks and Hazrat Vali heard a horrible sound. His blood curdled in his veins.
Shafia was lying on her back. The bullet had run straight through her throat. It was only now that Hazrat Vali realized what had happened. Astonished he looking at Shafia, then at the little oil lamp that was blazing at his feet.
“Why on earth have I lit it? Why?!” he thought in despair.
The same light came from the village again. Twice this time.
Hazrat Vali was running down the gorge as fast as he could. He was sucking his thumb and groaning with pain and despair. Something cold was running down his elbow.
***
The dawn in Ravalpindi is unforgettable, but the dusk is even much better. The sun here rises in the east, as everywhere else, and sets in the west, but they are the most beautiful sunrise and sunset in the world.
The city wakes up at five in the morning. A lot of people fill its streets: dark Lahorians, and even darker Karachians, Indian Mahajirs, Kashmirians, Patanians, local Punjabis, Persian-speaking Hazards. The people from North Pakistan are easiest to be recognized because of their hunza hats which are warn by every self-respecting Mujahid.
There are too few of these people in Ravalpindi, and so they can be spotted very easily. But if any of them want to stay unnoticed, they have to refuse wearing the hat. They can also be noticed and distinguished because of their white complexion and a proud look.
All the shops and inns are opened early in the morning, but bazaar opens even earlier, when it is still rather dark. There are two bazaars there: Sadarbazaar and Rajabazaar. One can walk in the Rajabazaar all day long, bargaining non-stop and never getting bored.
Near the bazaar there runs a narrow street – the blacksmiths’ lane. Every blacksmith there is specialized in some particular craft. Some are making horse-shoes, others – chains, and still others – Pakistani axes called chattels.
Each workshop belongs to a particular person. Some even own two workshops. The owners themselves don’t work, though they are excellent craftsmen. They are drinking a lot of tea all day long, and telling amazing stories while their hired laborers work and do a good job for them.
***
“What do you say, where has this lad come from?”
“He must be from the north, though his manners reveal that he is from Pushtuh. He works too hard, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. He has been working here for six years already. Before that he was an apprentice at Mamad Hussein’s. He is very honest. I would trust him anything, even my life.”
“The majority of customers are calling at his shop, as I see.”
“Yes, Allah has sent him to me.”
“Has he got a family?”
“No. And he won’t even think of it. Mamad Hussein suggested him to marry a nice Kashmirian girl, but he refused.”
“What’s his name?”
“Hallil-Beg.”
“A good name indeed. The Sultan of Lahore would envy him. Where does he live?”
“He’s renting a room at the bottom of the lane.”
The scarlet sun was setting at the bottom of the lane; in the west, as usual.
***
“Shafia! Shafia! Why on earth did I light that lamp? Why?!”
Hallil-Beg woke up wet all over. He lit a lamp, changed his clothes and washed his face and hands. He had to make three chattels and five horse-shoes that day. He looked at his right hand that lacked half a thumb.
The sun was rising at the bottom of the lane. It rose huge and golden.
“Today you’ve earned two hundred rupees. If you go on like this, you’ll save a considerable sum of money.”
“I do my best, Nana Muhamed.”[3]
“Guess what’s the date today?”
“I have no idea, Nana Muhamed.”
“What’s the matter with you? Why are you so absent-minded? Don’t you remember what happened seven years ago? You appeared in our lane all in rugs, exhausted and dying of hunger. We’re gathering at Mamad Hussein’s today to celebrate it. Close the shop early and come to his place.“
“I have a lot of orders, Nana Muhamed. I can’t let the customers down.”
“Do as I tell you. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”
“All right, Nana Muhamed.”
***
Two men came to the bazaar – one young, the other elderly. They asked the locals how to get to the blacksmiths’ lane. In the end, when they reached their destination, they entered one of the inns right at the top of the lane.
“Can I help you, dear guests?”
“Yes. We would like to have some makai chipati.”[4]
“You must be from the north then?”
“No, we arrived from Pashevari.”
“I see. I’ll bring your order in no time.”
The inn-keeper went away. The two men looked at each other.
“How could the bustard guess?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right, forget it.”
“We must be grateful to Inamur Haki. He saved our family from a public disgrace.”
“We don’t know it yet.”
“Oh yes, we do. Mahmad Omar saw him with his own eyes.”
“Really? How could he avoid killing him?”
“It wasn’t his duty, you ought to know that!”
***
It was getting dark in the blacksmiths’ lane. Most of the shops had already been closed. Only two shops were still lit up. Hallil-Beg took off his apron and hat, washed his hot face with cold water, removed the dust from his trousers, and looked at the result of the day’s work. “They’ll come in the morning, I guess. So I can close the shop and go to Mamad Hussein’s. I have to, they are gathering because of me,” he thought.
The fire in the furnace was nearly out. He switched off the light, shut the wooden door and locked it with two bolts.
“Who is the man waiting for, I wonder?” Hallil-Beg thought and suddenly saw the same light as in Diamroi seven years ago.
He dropped his head backward and felt a terrible pain in the back.
“I shouldn’t have left the fire in the furnace,” he thought and fell down on his back.
Two shadows were running down the lane.
Hazrat Vali was lying still. Soon something light and airy escaped his body, paused over it for a while, and flew westward, where the sun usually sets.
That night several dogs were growling in Diamroi till dawn.
Pakistan
Diamir Gorge, 2005
GRANDFATHER FROST
“Listen here man, am I telling you to beg him for money? Just go and ask him to get you a simple job. Let it be a caretaker’s or a night watchman’s job; something like that.”
“No no, Jemal, those years are my sweetest memory. I went round giving happiness and delight to the kids. True, it happened only once a year, but still it was wonderful. I remember their happy faces. They were waiting for me the whole night through. Some were waiting with the sleepy eyes, and others were full of joy and excitement... No, I can’t visit him. That world should remain untouched.
“Jesus! How obstinate you are! If I knew such a person, I would move the mountains! He must remember you, can’t he?”
“I hope so... I had been visiting their place for ten years. In the end he told me he knew I was not real, that I was disguised, but he still wanted me to come... Let’s have some more drink.”