Sweat drained down the side of Abdullah's face. The eldest man of every house was invited for the meeting today, commonly referred to as the Panchayat in Pakistani villages. In common terms, Panchayat was village court where the respected and elderly of the village gave their verdict on issues. Abdullah had not been in on this idea from the start but he didn't seem to have much choice. As he stared at the crowd of men chattering secretively in front of him, his throat clenched with horror.

"Aqib, this is a bad idea." He whispered in Aqib's ear. "We still have time to bail out before we are embarrassed in front of the whole village."

"It's better to come out clean before one of them rants it out to the police." Aqib hissed back with a forced smile.

Allahditta's Voice flowed through the small living room of his house, "As you all know we have been gathered here for a meeting today, called for by Aqib Khan."

The Khans sat on wooden chairs while Allahditta and the rest of the villagers sat cross-legged on the floor, the room filled till the far wall. It was a symbol of hierarchy for this village; the feeders sat higher than the fed.

Aqib cleared his throat to catch everybody's attention. Abdullah was turning colors at his side.

"Brothers," Aqib began. "this is definitely a time of hardship for us, with the Police surrounding us at all times, searching our houses, our carts. And there are a lot of theories flowing through the rebellious mouths of many in this village. Theories that accuse us Khans to be the reason behind this unrest."

The audience lowered their eyes out of respect, yet Aqib knew it was one of them who was ready to inform the Police at any time. A fire burned inside his chest, cackling with the fuel of self-respect.

"We have fed this village for over a decade now. First my father, then my mother, may God have mercy upon their souls, and now us!"

Abdullah held his hands together, trying to act cool. He did not want to attract attention to his mother's murder, the one that he himself had planned, but this was ensuring the exact opposite.

"My mother was killed brutally in her sleep. A few days ago, the murderer escaped prison and was found staggering through the village in the morning."

All these years had passed, yet he could not forget Saleem's wicked face gleaming in the moonlight the night of the murder. He had fired at his back and missed. Saleem had turned around to look at Aqib before disappearing into the forest. Aqib had followed the sound of running footsteps on dry grass till quite deep in the forest but the effort was futile. It was the most horrible night of his life and now that he was sharing this story, Aqib felt something boil in his chest. As much as he tried to forgive Saleem, he could not find it in him to do so. His face had haunted him every night, staring back at him from the woods, scorning at him for being so helpless in trying to stop him.

He had never forgotten his face, that's why he was able to remember Saleem when he appeared in the village that morning.

"Allahditta was there, and so were a few other people amongst you when I took him home." A few heads nodded, trying to join in as eye-witnesses to the story that would soon be the headline of the village gossip.

"I want you people to know that I have held the prisoner captive at my home and do not wish to hand him over to the Police."

Awestruck faces looked up at Aqib and an old man with perfect white hair obliged. "Aqib, son, why wouldn't you want to hand him back to the prison? I mean you want him to pay for what he did, right?"

Aqib huffed at this response. "If they were any good, they wouldn't let him escape in the first place. For all that I know he must be living a royal life back in the prison. This time he escaped but God brought him straight to my hands. Next time he would probably be smart enough to run away somewhere else. Somewhere he can live out the remaining of his life untamed and unharmed just like every oppressor does."

The villagers fell silent. Aqib stared at them for a while before continuing. "If you respect us as a family who has served and helped this village through the years, you would not tell the Police about this. Other than that, prepare for tomorrow's Eid. May God shower his blessings upon all of you."

Short, concise and punchy; just as Aqib had planned. The receptive faces of the villagers looked convinced, at least for the time being.

***************************

The villagers had decorated their houses and shops with lights of every color and kind that they planned to turn on after the sunset, drowning the village into their merry light. People at Pakistan did not let any festival go without lighting and lots of food. The children raced barefoot in the dusty grounds, laughing at the odd one who stepped on a sharp stone and held his foot with momentary rage that soon converted into laughter like all others.

A young boy with oily hair, plastered cleanly onto his scalp with a side part, banged on the Khan's entrance gate. Aisha answered, "Who is it?"

"Urh, Aunty is Ali home?" He was asking for Aqib's son.

"Yes, he is. I'll send him out in a minute."

A few moments later, Ali appeared on the front door with a large grin spread across his face. His eyes twinkled with the sort of naughty glint that suited his age.

"The guys are playing with old tires down the corner, Ali. You wanna come?"

The game was really popular in Pakistani villages. Children used to roll old cycle tires and beat them with a stick to keep them rolling, all the while running after them. As pointless as it sounded, it gave them a feeling of control that one might get while driving, and Ali was distinctly good at the game.

He raced inside to get his old cycle tire that Aqib had stored down in the cellar. He opened the door and descended the stairs two at a time, holding the side railing for balance and then jumped the last three stairs to land with a loud thud on the basement floor. Just as he turned to his left he saw those big dark brown eyes staring back at him with much interest. He had forgotten about this mysterious man that they were keeping in their cellar for some odd reason.

His heart beat extraordinarily fast. The man did not seem to be in a good state. His over grown beard was shaggy and so were his torn clothes, but his smile contrasted the rest of his aura. The last time Ali had seen him, he had been tied, but he sat comfortably in a corner now with a soft smile as his lips moved soundlessly in tasbeeh.

The man nodded at him, a safe gesture Ali thought. He walked to the other end of the basement which had old useless stuff stashed in it. He pulled aside the junk to look for his tire.

"Assalam u alaikum!" The man said. "Sorry, I had been busy in tasbeeh before."

Ali turned around to see him. There was something odd about this man. Something that made him scary.

"Wa'alaikum assalam!" He whispered and then continued looking for his tire. He wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. His hand grazed over soft rubber buried deep in the pile of junk. He tried pushing away the useless metallic heap aside as an old motorcycle oil tank slid from the top of the heap and fell on his foot.

Ali hollered in pain that swept up into his leg.

Why do we even keep this stupid junk!

He sat down, holding his foot when the man approached him from behind. Saleem's hand held Ali's bony shoulder.

"You okay?"

Ali pulled back involuntarily with his eyes wide.

"It's fine." Saleem lifted his hands up. "I just want to help." He slid his arm in the heap and fished for the tire that he immediately found and pulled out. "Here you go."

Ali looked up at Saleem with unsure eyes. Even if this man looked scary, he was sweet.

Saleem moved back to his corner and sat again. Ali slung the tire over his shoulder and walked back towards the stairs.

"Hey, you don't happen to have a razor here somewhere? I mean I could use with cleaning a bit of my beard." He gave a polite laugh.

It was only fair to help the man after he had just helped him so Ali ran upstairs into his room and opened his father's drawer, sliding his hand through his stuff and finding a razor. He rushed back downstairs where the man was still sitting in the same position, waiting for him. Ali walked more confidently now that he trusted him. He extended his hand out and handed the razor over.

"Thanks." Saleem replied. "You're a good kid." He ruffled the top of Ali's hair affectionately.

Just then, the basement door smashed open and down ran Aqib and Abdullah to find the murderer holding Ali by the hair with a blade in his hand. Their blood ran cold at the sight.