A Cast Stone

Emaan Yaqub

“Come on!” he said grabbing his arm. He did not know where he was being taken,

and yet he still followed. The first was a host, the second was a guest. They continued

along the damaged path, both were waiting for some signal to stop, as neither knowing

where their road would end.

It did end, at a strange room. It was made of metal, small and no roof. The

purpose of the room eluded the two boys, but they did not investigate further. Instead

they sat in the dust, waiting, for what, they did not know. Soon, a portly man walked

into the unusual room. What he was doing there neither knew.

Suddenly, the first boy began to throw rocks against the metal walls. The

clattering and banging caused a fury of curses to be released from inside the room. The

second boy joined in too, not wanting to miss out on the fun. The first boy kept aiming

higher and higher, the second, not wanting to be outdone followed his lead.

Eventually the rocks would glide right through the non-roof and would bounce

around inside, causing the man to scream angrier than ever. The second boy hesitated.

It passed, quickly as the peer pressure eroded his reluctancy. He too join in on the stone

throwing. It almost became a competition, each boy seeing who could get it to tumble

the most on the inside of the box. Both, ignoring the cries of the man inside, ignoring his

calls for them to stop.

The door swung open with vengeance. The crashing slam sent the boys

scrambling, tripping over themselves and the rocky terrain. They ran for their lives. The

fat man could not catch up them. Than ran they into the safety of their house. The man
stood outside for a while continuing his vulgar tirade, eventually leaving, but not

without promising vengeance.

Three days passed with no mention between the boys of the incident. They had

almost forgotten about it,as boys do. Their attention was fixated by other delights and

distractions, both thinking they got away with it. But then Friday came, and so did the

Mullah.

The Mullah was tall, with piercing green eyes, and great black beard. He wore

flowing white robe, almost gliding like an ethereal spirit to his reserved seating place.

He came every Friday to teach religious studies, he was also in charge of discipling the

children if they acted out. He continued the lesson as usual occasional sipping his

steaming tea. At the end of it, he took his last sip and closed the Holy Book.

“I have been told you have commited outrageous acts” he said to no one in

particular, but the boys knew exactly who he was taking to. The forgotten memory of

their acts stuck them like a bag of bricks. They began to sweat the sweat of the guilty. “Is

this true?” he asked menacingly, ascertain the truth before making his judgement. It was

futile to lie to him, and they both fessed up.

“Get the cord” he barked, somehow without raising his voice. He was referring to

the infamous electrical cord. The second boy got up slowly and carefully, avoiding eye

contact, trying not to offend the Mullah anymore. He returned with the whip, his

breaths becoming shorter. The Mullah rose, and asked the first boy to extend his hand,

palm facing up. He sheepishly obeyed, not wanting to draw further ire from the incensed

Mullah.

The Mullah began to lash at the boy’s hand, over and over, each time with more

fury than the last. It seemed there was no end to his punishment. The first boy was in
tears, his anxiety replaced with pain. The second boy was quaking in fear, his

transaction had not gone through yet. The Mullah then began to whip the first boys’

back and legs with that terrible cord. The boys cries for mercy seemed to be answered,

as the Mullah stopped suddenly. He caught his breath, fixed his white robes and

straightened up.

He turned then to the second boy, staring at him intensely. He glared at him for

an eternity. He took one step towards the second boy, the boy stepped backwards almost

as if being pushed back by the Mullah’s aura. His heart was in his throat. But there was

no argument, no pleading, he knew he deserved it. But that knowledge did not suffice

him. The first boy, wiped away his snot from crying, at least in this he would receive

some megear satisfaction.

But, instead of inflicting his dreadful justice, he dropped the cord. “Thank you for

the tea,” he said as he picked up his belongings. And he left, leaving them both stunned.

Both had learned their lesson. The first knew not to throw rocks. The second learned the

laws of hospitality.