Doctrine

Chapter 1: The Last

His lousy body lied abandoned on the road. Blood veiled his wrinkled face. His already crimsoned face was bathed in red. The world around him felt like frozen. He strained to move his wrecked body, but miscarried. People hastened to rescue the senile. He gazed the setting sun with his inanimate eyes. An effort to raise his hand went unfruitful. A mob had surrounded the site. A younker, making his way through the throng, came yelling then crying. "I'M SORRY!" He wailed. "I'M SO SORRY!" The old-man was pacified but a somber look at his face was conspicuous. The hand of his which had been holding tight onto something, bloomed. A frizzed photograph slipped away and fell on the road.

An old table had his breakfast placed on it. He swallowed those stale breads from the last night. He'd pour some water along. Then he sipped his tea. Four bedstead occupied the rest of the room. Superannuated walls made it more dilapidated.

'This is it, folks! This is it.' A bantering child reached him toddling from the patio. 'This is the Day of Judgement! I saw clouds coming down. This is the sign, people.' She looked terrified. The only toy of her attracted her sight. She felt sorry. 'How'd you end up here, Dall the Doll!?' she murmured.

A girl came into the room. 'We're getting late, papa.' She said. 'I'm almost there, raceme.' He sipped his last, wiped his mouth and went out. The girl followed. He tapped his bicycle. His two-roomed house was small but in harmony and teeming with love.

On their way to school, they were accompanied by the hooligans' gang hooting around. His daughter was embarrassed as much as he was.

This hassle had been going on since his daughter entered the high school a year ago. His leased barber shop didn't make much of a living. His finesses were the best in the town. Due to the lack of pricy tools, he wasn't much visited. Another reason for that was, perhaps, also his age. The youngsters opted young barbers to make their heads and faces. His daughter had been asking to pay her school for safe transportation and he'd been saying, "I'll try."

Sometimes he'd get so drear that he'd cry - cry very hard. His only friend, Mushtaq Ahmad, would solace him. Once a customer told him of an oneiric place. He often talked about going there. Mushtaq, though, kept interdicting him from leaving.

A broken mirror, a comb, a scissor and a stitched chair along with some old luggage was his barber shop. "Family Barber Shop" gloomed written in a very illiterate style on the door. On a wall inside the shop, a poster said;

"Curse be upon those men who relate themselves to the women and curse be upon the women who adopt men's way."

An old man came into the shop. His white beard and turban were both combed and ironed properly. After greeting, he sat on the bench.

'How is your day going, Laeek?' said the old man.

'Usual.' Said Laeek while pouring water for the old man. Laeek gave water to the old man and sat silent for a moment. Then spoke up.

'Brother Mushtaq! I can't do it. I can't...' he stammered. 'I need to go somewhere and.... and earn for my family. I can't see them like this.' His tone became somber gradually.

'You get what you're destined to get. Here, or somewhere else.' Said Mushtaq.

'It's what destiny wants. I've been shaving heads for fifteen years now and here I am. I mean... you know what I am!' His voice grew loud. 'On mountain side.....'