Chapter 3 FLIGHT

"Disobedience is the true foundation of liberty. The obedient must be slaves." - Henry David Thoreau.

Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!!

The voice of a muezzin thrilled, calling the faithful to worship. And the masses trooped into the mosque to answer the call. The shadowy corners had just sunk into the firmament as the fused warm light of dawn crept down the summit.

Bow wow!! Barked the neighbourhood's dogs. The little town of Muridike just woke up. And every corner was lively with human activities. The women were busy doing some of the domestic chores while men were with their pipes puffing away the coldness from their bodies.

'Assalam Aleykum!'

The weather was cruel and freezing. The breeze could bend and melt humans. And even blow away the chattering teeth from the root.

It was on that certain day, a little boy in the carpet factory had a high fever. Gullah, the owner, tied the boy's feet together and hung him upside down from the ceiling fan.

'You rug rat! I am the one who decides when you work.' Gullah roared, whipping him furiously with a belt.

Iqbal stood aside watching with a yelp of fear. He knew that one day he'd be a victim of the same situation. His face grew dark. He couldn't bear the sight of his friend under torture and shivering with fever.

Iqbal now found his voice and swung into action as Ghullah raised his hand again to deliver another blow.

'Enough, master!' Iqbal cried. 'Are you not a human? Or have you created a beast?'

Gullah stood still like the sun. He looked at Iqbal and grabbed him by the shoulder. Iqbal felt the grip and winced with fear. And then revived his courage.

His master growled something inaudible and then released him, turning his face away to the direction that his feet led him out of the scene. And silence reigned.

Iqbal had always been a dreamer. A visionary who consoled himself when he's faced with the difficulties of the moment by a look at a better day to come.

He knew that he'd escape the plague sooner or later. Of course, sunshine always follows a night. So he kept believing that the sun will rise tomorrow.

In that instant, Iqbal decided that he'd had enough from his cruel empathic master. He and his friends took the chance to run away when Ghullah wasn't there.

Then the sun slowly hid her face behind the mountain. The weather was beautiful. Some boys were playing football when Iqbal with the other children came across them in the field. It interested them to join in exclusion of Iqbal who doesn't seem to have an interest.

'Do you want to play?' One of the players asked.

The boys smiled modestly. And Faaiz answered them; 'Yea, we'd love to play.'

'Come to our team!' The two teams cried out. Within a few minutes, the boys chose their ends and the game started. They played all day without worrying about what awaited them. Not even the crack of a whip nor death.

Faaiz's team were playing excellently well against the other. The other team were like bulls on the field. And they hadn't any sporting spirit. And that's why the other team is winning.

The first fifteen minutes of the match were smooth. After that things started happening. It all began with the great scores by the Faaiz's team. From then on, the playing ground turned to a battlefield.

The other team played with the core principle of "Don't miss the leg if you missed the ball." So whenever they couldn't get hold of the ball, they sought the legs of their opponents with the ball.

Several ugly clashes occurred and Faaiz's team fell victims. This could be one of the reasons behind Iqbal's disinterest in football sport.

Cheers went high as Faaiz raced with the ball, dribbled and penetrated through the back defenders and now had only the goalkeeper to beat.

The boys in the other team cried out in despair. Some raised hands to their heads praying within for the ball to fly above the post. While the goalkeeper kept his eyes fixed and ready to hold down the ball from rolling into the post.

Like the wave of a wand, the ball went in in spite that the goalkeeper dived to stop it. Eighteen minutes later, the match ended three one. A cloud of jubilation rose.

Some went home with cheers and others with tears. And that's the sweetness of the sport!

The patches of the sky grew dark. The night was fast approaching. Everyone had left. The poor children were loitering around for a place to pass the night.

They hunted the entire woodland in search of food and water for they were starved and thirsty. While they were in the heart of the grove, they fed on wild fruits and drank from a running river.

All manners of animals were making some appalling sounds - the bats. Owl. Crickets. The children heard a sound at a close distance. It was the grunts of a wild pig scavenging for pasture.

Fear swept them off balance. Could it be some Jinns? They mumbled a prayer of protection. "Audhu billahi min-ash shaytanir Jim."

The straws among the children cowered in dismay while Iqbal and one of the boys, Huzaifa went after the pig with a rock and a wood.

A mere sight can not successfully give out Huzaifa's identity because he cut cloth from both Pakistan and India. He was such a charming boy with so many attractive features - good height, dark skin, slim frame, small nose and thick hair.

And in the heart of the night, the children crashed in an alley by the side of a shop. The night was cruel to the uncovered children.

In the following morning, Ghullah came to their homes to get them. He grew furious and beat the boys with a carpet fork or whatever is within reach.

Then he shackled them on chains like animals in an abattoir waiting to be slaughtered. And they were released on the second day like birds from a cage.