Preacher Soleiman, procrastinating before leaving his cabin, sat reciting Quran on the edge of his bed. The entire cabin was brightly lit thanks to the gaps on the ceiling that let the morning sun indoors. At any moment, a student would arrive to fetch him. He had prepared his satchel for the day's work. There was a hushed, polite knock on the door and it opened ever so slightly. An unfamiliar yet soft voice inquired, "May I come in, Mr. Soleiman?".
Soleiman was surprised by the formality and the accent. The people he preached didn't care so much about formalities of addressing the foreigners with formal respect because there wasn't any tradition that urged them to do so. The accent seemed more western than African. And of course, English language was non-existent in the village. He had had to make do with his broken and inadequate knowledge of the native language. Only his Pakistani companions, that had accompanied him for the trip, had spoken English but their accents were stereotypically Indian.
"Come in", was all that Soleiman could manage. His mind was focused, with all its might, on the door and he had forgotten about the book in his hands. The door opened and a tall middle-aged man, his skin white to the point of being pale, slowly entered the room with a wide, pleasant smile on his face. He wore a long black dress, tailor fitted to his physique, along with a long coat over the dress and carried a brown leather shoulder bag. A pair of scholarly reading glasses hung from his neck by a thread. Soleiman tried his best to recognize him but in vain. He had met many white westerners in his preaching trips around the world but this person's face didn't ring any bells.
"Hope I didn't disturb you", said the guest as he entered the cabin.
"I didn't know there were any other foreigners in the village", Soleiman abruptly asked.
"There aren't. My friends have left, only I decided to stay behind", the guest responded with smile. Soleiman was embarrassed by his lack of hospitality. "Oh, where are my manners? Please have a seat", said Soleiman.
"No thanks pal, I just wanted to meet you. Since I already know you, the name's Steve Richardson by the way. I need to keep moving. And it seems that you yourself have places to be", the guest said casually. Soleiman looked to the bulging bag on his left and knew why the guest had guessed it. A faint noise of a crowd from outside the cabin attracted their attention. Since Steve was already on his feet, he walked to the window and peeked out while Soleiman awaited his reaction.
"I think you have worn out your welcome as well! We will meet again!", Steve calmly exclaimed as he peeked out of the window.
"Why? What's happening?", Soleiman was troubled. Steve stared outside with a blank face. The noises strengthened to the point of becoming unbearable. Soleiman felt like putting his palms on his ears to block the noise. The sound of multiple glasses being shattered was heard and flames appeared on the outside of the window. Suddenly Steve turned to Soleiman and stared at him. Soleiman felt a wave of terror as he looked back at his guest.
"Follow the river. You'll find help", the guest spoke right before the door was breached and his coat caught fire. Steve didn't move as he went up in flames but just stared at Soleiman. The deafening noises entered the cabin.
The loud screeching and singing of the birds pulled preacher Soleiman out of his unconsciousness. Water and sand in his eyes made him squint. It did not take him long to absorb the reality and he threw himself up back to his feet in terror. He was ready to run again. By the increasing intensity of the sunlight he understood that it had been almost two hours since he had dived into the river and the time for Fajr prayer was nearing its end. He wondered if he had lost his pursuers. He recalled his dream, or what some would have called a nightmare, just as it was fading away from his memory. He thought if he would forget it like most of the dreams but the face of his guest laid stamped in his memory. The preacher was confused beyond comprehension but then again, nothing had made any sense anyway. Maybe it was just another cocktail of a hundred different memories and a million different thoughts. He brushed away the thought. He searched his satchel for the mini prayer rug made of parachute that he always carried around with him in his voyages. His childhood habit of being overly organized had proved to be fruitful that day. Soleiman had developed a habit of organizing his bags and wardrobe for the next day, at the end of each day. So fortunately, his satchel had contained the essentials for his next day but nothing could have prepared him for the events that occurred in the last three hours. His usual supplies included a parachute prayer rug that folded into a four-inch pouch, a compass, a collapsible plastic bottle, a pack of biscuits, a small kitchen knife, a miswak, a small metal cup, a spare kurta, prayer cap and a pack of waterproof matches that he had bought from a thrift shop at empress market in Karachi. These items were overkill in a normal day in the field for Soleiman but that day they seemed less than sufficient.
Soleiman made the most of the moment of relief he got and dusted himself to get ready for the Fajr prayer. The running river water was optimal for Wudhu. The compass came in handy and so did the prayer rug. The Fajr prayer was offered by him with a grateful heart. He soon packed up for further expedition as soon as he was free. The compass would have been of any use if only he had known where he was supposed to go. He was surrounded by dense vegetation and only one side had a distinct feature about it, the river that had brought him here. The tall grass and utter lack of features around him also relieved him a bit as it showed that there hadn't been any human interference in the area. The path stretching alongside the river would have been the better option as it would provide a consistent supply of food and water but might also turn out to be inhabited by his pursuers. He shot an arrow in the dark, prayed for the best and did not have the resources to prepare for the worst. He took off.
The clearer path would have been the better option if merely finding the way was the objective but he also needed to stay hidden from the locals. The more important aspect of survival and escape compelled him to follow the river through the adjacent vegetation. He remembered the history lesson he learned in his childhood that early civilizations often fought to inhabit the surrounds of rivers for abundant and consistent supply of fresh water and any sort of fishing or hunting opportunities. Judging by the state of development he witnessed in the village he was running from and other tribes or villages he passed to reach there, it was safe to assume that every inhabitable land near the river would not be empty but the Words "Follow the River!" were engraved in his thoughts. He was focused enough to fill his collapsible plastic bottle with fresh river water, bearing in mind the danger of staying to close to mainstream river. Preacher Soleiman calmly walked into the woods and out of sight. He kept a safe distance from the river while keeping track of the direction of it. The moment he stepped back into the woods, the light diminished so much that looked as if dusk was approaching. The vast green roof smothered the daylight expertly. Only the scattered rays of sunlight that managed to penetrate the treetops gave away the actual time of day. The ground under the tree roof exhibited the effects of the lack of sunlight it received. Algae were everywhere. The ground looked more green than sandy which it was a layer below.
Soleiman tried to make some sense out of the events that had just unfolded before him. He had arrived in a stranger territory that could have turned hostile, with an announcement that the Gods worshipped by them for centuries were all made up. Retaliation and resistance were inevitable. Bloodshed was very well expected. The popular news from the villages and tribes discovered on the banks of Amazon river were that the natives were hostile towards all the outsiders which was also anticipated from the village he had arrived in. But the villagers had been indifferent and, to an extent, even welcoming. The meeting with the Shaman hadn't set off any alarms. He suspected something had occurred that he wasn't aware of.
The preacher had worries other than just remaining out of sight of his assailants. The more time he spent laying low, the more food he would need. He had the biscuits in his satchel to feed him for half a day. He would have to live off anything he found on his way. Although his knife and pack of matches may help him to survive here for days but Soleiman was not in any mood to stay for more than one. The damp atmosphere in the forest was not a good sign as it could cause all sorts of infections. The species inhabiting such damp places tend to be more treacherous than their counterparts in dry areas. He needed to take all sorts of precautions when taking rests or stealing naps. He realized that he was on a tightrope and any mishap may prove to be fatal.