Daily Times

The sun rose through the trees. Only God knew which house it was going to set beyond in the evening. The road was calm as ever, waiting for the steps of the wayfarers. Some distance away, near the Boy’s Hostel, the two soldiers sat as usual, reading the newspaper. Every morning I took this route to go to the nearby shop to buy poison for my grandmother. I never wondered what she was supposed to do with these poisons nor had she given me such an impression that could help me draw some assumptions. She might have, but I never noticed. That old man was the only shopkeeper in town who sold poison. The moment I would turn up, he’d stretch out his hand holding a wrapped piece of crumpled paper. One day I decided to stay behind the soldiers and unwrap the paper to discover what sort of poison it was but in the very moment the words of my teacher echoed in my mind:

“Never read people’s letters in their absence; never eavesdrop on others’ conversations; never rummage through people’s belongings. Otherwise, God will be angry.”

I was adored by my grandmother too much. After I would return from school, she’d always keep yoghurt and fresh dates for me. One day, I happened to see her fingernails. They looked pale and gunky and had grown so rigid that it was now painful for her to clip them. After that day, I never touched her dates and yoghurt. She did not force me either. One day as I opened my eyes I found her standing at my head and caressing my hair. She was gazing at me with such curiosity as if it was the first time she was having a look at her grandson. She seemed quite frail and barely parted her lips:

“My son! Buy me some sugar today”.

I too, liked sugar. I recalled that when my mother was alive she often stealthily gave me sugar to eat. One day I sneaked into the kitchen, opened the sugar canister and ran my tongue on those tiny white cubes. I was unaware that grandmother was standing behind me. It was that day that I learned there was something called sugar. Today as I heard this word again, sweetness ran down my blood. I put my little finger into my mouth and sucked it.

It was a usual day. The soldiers were reading the newspaper. The road was waiting for the steps of the wayfarers. But the old man with the poison was nowhere in the shop. Instead there was a boy was there but he did not have anything in his hand. I assumed he did not have sugar in his stock. So I proceeded ahead. A moment later, I felt as if I was heading towards a desolate plain. Dark black mountains were peering at me. Why have I come here seeking sugar? There is not a single human here. I still kept wondering when an aged man walked past me. I think he was the very shopkeeper who held me poison every morning. I passed through the mountains and finally reached a shop and bought some sugar. As I turned back, I found an army of veiled horsemen blocking my way. The man who was leading the army scanned me thoroughly as if he was looking for something.

Holding my hands back, I stood facing them. A scrawny man from the army said:

“Sir search his hands, he might have hidden it behind him”.

“Do you have the sugar”? He strolled ahead and asked me. For a moment I thought to decline his question but in the very moment the words of my teacher rang in my mind:

“Never fear anybody but God. Never tell a lie even if you are in danger whatsoever”.

I held him the little sack of sugars. In the trail of dust left by the horses, I was on my way back home with empty hands. My grandmother would be expecting me with sugar but she was unaware of what had befallen me. The mountains were peering at me again. The same old man walked past me again. This time I was sure he was the very same poison seller. He cast a glance at me.

The boy was still sitting in the shop. This time he stretched his hand like the old man but the crumpled paper he held me wore a different colour. With this in my hand, I was on my way back home.

This is a translated version of A R Dad’s Balochi short story

Published in Daily Times, November 22^nd 2017.