The sky in Lahore had turned orange as the dusk approached. The streets around Soleiman's house were crowded with innumerous vendors and their wheel carts, selling almost anything. The vegetable vendors were shouting better and better deals as the hours passed as they wanted to clear their cart for the next day. The beggars tried all sorts of tones and noises to attract the attention of the people. It was pack-up time for some but also the start of business hours for others. The samosa makers were setting up their stoves and gas cylinders. They hastily fetched from the freezer, the ready-to-fry items that they had readied hours ago. A local play area and gaming arcade owner dusted the Ataris and coin rides for the boys getting relieved from after school tuitions and children that were about to chew off the ears of their fathers as they returned from work. Young Soleiman was on his way back from the mechanic's workshop early in the evening. He saw his mother embroidering a scarf with utmost attention. She was startled when she heard the iron gate close but was more than happy to know that she was going to have some extra time to spend with her son. She smiled at him and Soleiman smiled back. "I'll make something for the supper", she said and darted to the kitchen. Soleiman nodded and went to their small dining room with splintered furniture and scraped up walls. He didn't mind. As far as he was concerned this was what heaven must have felt like. He had a loving mother whom he cherished and who valued him back. He couldn't ask for anything more than that. Moments later his mother entered the room with a tray with kettle, cups and pakoras. She placed the tray on the table and sat down on the couch beside him. Soleiman laid down on the couch and set his head on her lap. His mother caressed his hair and turned on the T.V. It was static. "What's wrong dear?", she asked. "Nothing. I just missed you", he answered.
"Won't the mechanic master cut your salary?"
"There was nothing to do anyway. He was the one who shoved me out of the workshop. He had a wedding to attend".
Mother laughed and continued brushing his hair with her fingers. Suddenly the T.V. came to life. The news channel was on. They didn't acknowledge it. The mother asked him what he wanted for dinner. He asked for biryani, like most of the Pakistanis when given the luxury to choose. She smiled and nodded. The T.V. had successfully attracted his attention, it was airing a breaking news. Soleiman was extremely exhausted and feeling heavily sedated. He knew it must be a random minister gloating about some new project of his ministry. But the newscaster almost immediately transitioned to the live camera and left the narration to the reporter. The livestream had several watermarks of the news agencies on it. It was a traffic accident scene.
"A lorry has hit an office van carrying eight steel mill employees, near the highway. Both the vehicles have been overpowered by the flames", the reporter was blathering and panting with a huge microphone in his hand while large flames could be seen behind him. "As per the witnesses the lorry driver was a young boy, around thirteen to fourteen years of age. Edhi ambulances have gathered around while their rescue workers are trying to pull out the corpses. All the victims are dead. I repeat, there are no survivors", he continued, "The driver of the van has been identified and the according to our exclusive reports, he has left behind a widow and a two years old son. The recognition procedure of the rest of the victims is being performed as we speak", the reporter kept on chattering.
Soleiman stared with his head in his mother's lap. His eyelids felt heavier and heavier by every passing second. The reporter kept chattering on but suddenly he was stopped mid-sentence and the camera was back on the Newscaster in the studio. He put a finger to his earpiece and listened for a few seconds then said, "This just in, a crowd has gathered outside the famous Hizb-ul-Muballigheen office in Karachi", the camera transitioned to a reporter dutifully sharing every detail, pressing his earpiece with one hand while in the background, a mob surrounding the Jama Umar Farooq Mosque could be seen. "As you can see behind me, a crowd is chanting against Sheikh Abdul Haadi. They want his head. The reason for such a demand is unknown for the time being. The crowd have pitchforks and torches in their hands. They say they will burn down the building on him if they have to. The police are finding it very hard to contain. Reinforcements have been requested".
Soleiman was finding it very hard to focus with a groggy and sleepy mind. There was a loud crash and the reporter erupted, "They have breached the main gate and have got a hold of Sheikh Abdul Haadi. They are dragging him outside as we speak. A crucifix is being readied for him just outside the mosque". Moments later, Soleiman could see Sheikh Abdul Haadi emerge from the crowd with his white kurta turned red with his blood. He was being shoved and pushed by the mob towards the crucifix.
Soleiman weakly muttered with a puzzled look on his face, "What on earth is happening?"
"The same that is coming for you", a distorted voice said while caressing him. Soleiman looked up at her with confusion. He was looking at the Shaman stroking his hair with a sinister grin from ear to ear. Soleiman felt paralyzed as the Shaman stared into his soul while he laid on his lap.
"You can't run forever, blasphemer!", the Shaman screamed as he lifted a red-hot branding iron high in the air and drove it down with all his might onto Soleiman's face. The last thing Soleiman saw was a glowing red panther plummeting down on his face.
Soleiman woke up soaked in sweat, panting and gasping for air. Mustafa came running to him and offered him water which he gladly accepted. Soleiman noticed that he was sitting on a sheet put over a heap of leaves and branches while his savior was crouched on the bare ground preparing something for him to eat on a carefully obscured bonfire.
"Nightmare?", Mustafa casually asked while he kept his focus on his work. Soleiman was still reeling from the dream. He nodded and rested his face on his palm. He was clearly in pain and confusion. Mustafa acknowledged his suffering and comforted him.
"I was also plagued with never ending nightmares that made me too afraid to sleep. But now it seems like even the nightmares grew bored of me and decided to let me be", Mustafa said with a chuckle.
He finished preparing the meal and limped to the recently wounded. As he fed him, he saw it in Soleiman's eyes that he wanted to ask him a lot of questions. Mustafa realized that it was time that Soleiman had the answers he needed.
"I came with a group of preachers to the tribe that lies in the east of this river, two weeks before your group did. It took me months to get here, going country to country, but I finally arrived at the place with my group. We were not warmly welcomed neither were we shunned. I walked my group to many markets and houses, and planted the idea of one god in the minds of the people. We captured their hearts by showcasing the purest examples of devotion, kindness and humanity. People grew very fond of us. We even visited the small temple in that tribe's land and preached to the apprentices. One of the apprentices was so impressed that he left to inform his master Shaman who operated from outside the area and visited only on the annual festivals. Our tour was nearing its end when one night, I heard deafening noises and screams outside my cabin. When I stepped outside, I saw an angry mob chasing my group with torches, axes and pitchforks. A number of my companions laid hacked and dead on a mule carriage barely keeping up with the mob. The handler of the carriage madly whipped the mule and the screams of the mule further added to the chaos. Blood was dripping from the carriage. I was just trying to make some sense of what I was seeing when a half-naked, body painted guy running with the mob locked his eyes with mine. He stopped in his tracks, pointed towards me and let out an earsplitting scream. The mob looked in my direction. I didn't waste a second and ran through the houses that were situated behind my cabin and shouted and called to my companions with all my might. They stepped out and saw me in such shape, I had no time to explain but to scream 'Run!'. They followed suit. Soon we were surrounded from three sides and the forest was the only option left, so we dove in", Mustafa stared into the fire as he continued. "They eventually hunted us down. The last thing I remember was praying with what was left of my group when I was hit on the head. When I woke up, I was tied to a wooden pole with the corpses of my entire group piled beside me. The entire village surrounded me, eager to see me punished. An apprentice gave me a parting gift and branded my chest with a scorched brand with cow's head engraved on it".
Soleiman was shook when he heard him. Mustafa unbuttoned the collar of his kurta and showed him the mark. "They were ready to stone me to death when one of my students from the village emerged from the crowd, dressed for the occasion and requested that he be given the honor of putting me out of my misery. He was granted the opportunity. He unsheathed his sword while he cheered and celebrated with the crowd. He darted toward me and held my face in his hands. The crowd erupted with cheers. I was waiting for the killing blow when he whispered to me that he was sorry that he couldn't save my companions but he wasn't gonna let me die as well. Just as I was trying to comprehend what he meant, he shoved the sword deep into my thigh. I screamed in agony and each scream seemed to please the crowd further. It felt like my soul was desperate to depart from that wound. I couldn't see or hear anything but my own blood for a few seconds. A stream of blood gushed out of my leg. The crowd cheered him on. The student looked to me with sorry eyes but then he whispered again and told me to play dead as he lifted the sword once more. I braced myself. He impaled me through my chest. I didn't need to play dead because I passed out", Mustafa added. "When I regained consciousness, another student of mine was patching me up near the river where the rest of my group laid dead. When he noticed that I had woken up, he apologized for the wounds and told me that him and the student at the mob had planned all of this in urgency. The student in the mob had cut him precisely without damaging any vital artery or organ. The other student had stitched his wounds up and was putting some herbs on them before dressing them. As soon as he was finished, he handed me my bag that I had left in my cabin and taught me a little about the herbs. He urged me to run before he disappeared in the woods", he continued, "I have been on the run since".
Soleiman listened attentively. "How did you find me?" he inquired.
"I kept hearing a voice calling out my name. The entire day, I tried to ignore it but after dusk, I finally gave up. I followed the voice and just stumbled upon that village. I was just about to enter and ask for help when I overheard a few apprentices talking about the plan for that fateful night. I couldn't fully understand who the prey was until I saw you walk your student home and return to your hut".
"Did you alert Bilal?"
"He came out to do some chores. That's when I met him in the woods but I didn't expect to meet you"
"What was he wearing when you talked to him?", Soleiman was puzzled.
"Some plain white dress that desperately tried to resemble a Kurta"
Soleiman was starting to absorb the news. Bilal did need the heads up from Mustafa.
"What happened to the voices?", asked Soleiman, curious to know if he had already started hallucinating.
"I haven't heard it since", responded Mustafa drowned in the thought. "But I don't know how you ended up following me".
Soleiman didn't know how to tell him that because just a moment ago he was thinking that maybe Mustafa had started to lose it.