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On the way to retreat continued. The so-called leaders brought feudal democracy over and over again. Common people had accepted this situation. After a little poison, now and then, that put them in sweet dreams, they were ready to take a lot of poison for sweet death: there was no end to their miseries. The sight of a very old tea-hut brought Rafeel back from his thoughts. He recognized the old man working there. It was Rasoola, who had run that hut since the childhood of Rafeel. Rasoola was closing his hut when Rafeel reached him. "Can you give me a cup of tea?" Rafeel asked in the native accent. Rasoola turned his sun-burnt wrinkled face, and squinted his eyes to recognize the stranger but his face remained blank. "Chacha [uncle] Rasoola, this is unfriendly behaviour with your friend? No you were not like that---" It was another surprising remark for old Rasoola and he was baffled. "I am Rafeel, son of Murad Khan." At last Rafeel had introduced himself. Rasoola rushed towards him saying: " Oh, you naughty boy of Khan's, my hero! Come close to me." He hugged him warmly and started kissing his head. "You have become so weak and old, how strong you were." After that passionate encounter he sat down on the big bedstead and in the dim light of fire, Rafeel keenly observed the face of Rasoola. There, hidden in his wrinkles, he saw the centuries of deprivation and hunger that was the fate of third-world countries. They had to work in the scorching sunlight trying to satisfy the ever-empty bellies of their offspring. Rasoola made a special bowl of tea for him and wiping the sweat off his forehead, he said: "Rafeel, we will talk a lot tonight." "No," replied Rafeel, "I want to see my home, I can't wait." "Rafeel, have you forgotten that this is the time of year when hungry wolves come out of mountains?" "Even then Chacha, I will go." "I will tell you a lot of stories." "Stories of what? Of wolves?" "No, I will tell you the stories of men who are more vicious than wolves, and you will tell me the stories of the wolves of abroad, you must have come across many wolves during your long stay over there." "Yes, Chacha, but those wolves were of their own land, foreign wolves." Promising to meet again, he started walking quickly towards his Basti (village). There were many Jhokes (small villages), on the way. When he passed through the nearest jhoke, he saw an old man fettered in chains. Raheel knew him, he was Bukshoo who had lost his mind in youth. People of the village fastened him, because he threw heavy stones at people. Raheel stopped for a while, to look at that caveman who's white beard was touching the land, and mouth was frothing. Bukshoo looked at the stranger, made a bowl of his hand, threw dust on the stranger and started rolling on the dust like a tired donkey. Rafeel could not digest that horrible scene and started walking again. His country had become an atomic power, but Bukshoo was still in chains. "Damn care! I won't think about people. Already I have suffered a lot, I won't say anything against anybody, I want to live with my mother. To hell with the people, my mother is now too old! Democracy, justice and emancipation are just romantic notions. Here everything is futile, shallow and absurd." He stroked the ground with his foot and kept on walking. He heard the voice of mountains: " Everything is shallow. Everything is absurd." To overcome those oppressive thoughts, Rafeel looked at the red light on the mountains and his thoughts ran back to his childhood. He remembered the day when all the people of the village were gathered to see this strange thing for the first time, many simple farmers were so frightened that they hid themselves in their homes. Everyone narrated it with his own innocent perception. His elder brother told him that it was a light of uranium reactor. Khair Shah, shepherd of the village, never believed that it was a man-made thing; he was sure that it was the light of a saint, sitting on the mountains. Most of the simple villagers were followers of Khair Shah. In that far-off village, where there was no electricity, no clean water, no medication for dying people, it was something supernatural. When Rafeel's father brought radio, villagers ran out of the village, voices from that box made them frightened. It took them many months to be adjusted with that speaking box. When Rafeel reached near the cluster of big, thick trees, a melancholic memory struck his mind. It was the place where they had found the bones of Kaloo, a brave lad of the village, never afraid of the wild beasts, which would come late at night. Once, when he remained absent for many days, his friends started searching for him; they had found the bones of Kaloo here. Hungry wolves had left nothing behind, except a few bones and pieces of his clothes. Almost everybody believed that the cluster was the home of witches. Many people had even seen those witches. Nobody ever dared to cut any tree of that cluster, but Kaloo did so. It was now a common belief that witches ate Kaloo. Rafeel was surprised that not even a single tree had been cut in his long absence. He felt a wave of fear in his spine. The cluster of those trees was in close resemblance to his country! It was almost mid-night when he reached the surroundings of his village. He remembered the loud barking of the dogs when he used to return home late, from the fight with wild beasts. Hung with ugly truths, he stood there but this time he was returning after a long and tiring fight against human beasts, who have never been overcome! At that disappointing moment, he imagined the old face of his mother and ran like a child towards his home, the last retreat of every falling man. THE END
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