CHAPTER I

“No. I disagree. In fact, I would say I don’t know if what you’re saying is correct,” says Animas.
“What else could it possibly mean? All documents since the third age of the golden harvest
suggest the alarm bells should be raised if the crocodiles begin to shift their territory,” remarks
Elami.
Animas tightens the straps on his shoes but continues to hunch over and observe the captured
crocodile.
“That I know. I do not disagree with this. As far as the documents are concerned, my only
question is why?”
‘Why should it be a cause of concern if these creatures change their territory? Shortage of food?
Signs of flood or drought? Angry demons avenging lack of sacrifice? The possibilities are
endless.”
“Well, whatever it is, the point right now is to ensure citizens are aware. We can advise
authorities to initiate defensive measures. Stock up on wheat or something like that.”
“Understood. It’s getting darker anyways. Let’s go.”
By the time the duo reach the crop fields, the sun had set and the sounds of people cheering to
cock fights became more pronounced.
“What a silly notion. To think that the yield of a crop is determined by two birds fighting in a
pit,” says Animas.
“Not so silly. The Elamites think it really does work. They’re adopting the practice,” Elami
responds.
“Ah. Speaking of Elam. What is it like there?”
“I don’t know, I only went there once when I was a child. Don’t even remember anything and
people still call me Elami.”
“The Elamites do not concern me much though. Their only interest is in cockfights and colourful
stones. It is the horse riders that worry me,” exclaims Animas.
“Well you’re in luck my friend, we’re all set to meet a group of horse riders tomorrow.”
Animas and Elami walk past a group of men chanting obscure passages as they perform ablution
inside an open bath.
“The earth shall swallow those who follow,
Wisdom of the ages shall be swept with sorrow.
Walls between silence and noise,
All shall fall.
All shall fall.”

CHAPTER II:
Small lamps hanging by stone pillars illuminate the narrow alley, dogs howl in the distance and
water trickles through the passageway beneath the street.
Sounds of giggling children escape through the wooden doors; a woman sits at a bench and hums
along an old man singing a song in his low, husky voice.
“Soaring eagles, wriggling snakes,
Dearest deers, breathless haste,
Soggy soil and darker skies,
Buzzing flies, a sickening child,
Smaller graves, larger mouths!
The summer bloom, you stupid buffoon!
The summer bloom! The summer bloom!”

Chapter III:
“Entrance to the citadel is guarded. It must be because of the horse riders,” says Elami.
“Yes. Some of their people have more food than others. With all the swords and horses, what
else should one expect?” says Animas.
A broad shouldered horse rider interrupts.
“Out of the way, we’re here to meet the high priest. We have some urgent matter to discuss.”
“Our matter is also of the utmost concern,” responds Elami.
“And what might that be?”
“The Twin Rivers are changing course.”
“I don’t care about the damn river. My people are dying.”
“You bought them at the market?”
“What?”
“Alright. Go on,” Animas interjects.
“We can meet the high priest tomorrow,” he says as he places his arm on Elami’s shoulders.
“Engineers are patient.”

Chapter IV:
The city burns in the distance, screams echo through the alleys. Plumes of black smoke rise from
the lower quarters.
“Quick, climb the ladder! Climb the ladder! We need to get to the citadel.”
Animas quickly ascends the wall and inspects the skyline.
Suddenly, in the distance, plumes of black smoke transform into a hundred silver-eyed black
birds.
“What sorcery is this!?”
A huge bird not unlike dozens of other who flank it charges towards Animas.
“They’re coming for me!”
Just before they make the final descend onto the roof, a plume of white smoke just besides the
building rises up into the air and begins to take the shape of a bird and sharply flies into the sky
and then descend with lightning speed.
It lets out a fierce cry. Animas screams to match.
The wings and tails begin to glow and ignite with a red and purple fire.
In the ensuing battle, the Anka rises on top of the black bird and pushes it towards the ground, its
claws buried deep inside the adversary’s chest.
The Anka lets of a deafening shriek along the way – Battle rage.
Chapter V:
Dancing Girl:
In the courtyard of the citadel, Rashahb - a young beautiful girl, stood amidst the most influential
people of town, with her hand on her hip in a half-impudent posture, and legs slightly forward.
Everyone sat in awe after the staggering performance from the young girl. The musicians here
had pioneered insturments to create music that engulfed everyone in audience, as no one before
had heard such a symphony. She had beaten time to the music with her legs and feet.
She made everyone believe she was larger than life, someone who could even make a dead
man’s heart beat. But deep inside her, a silent narration engulfed her. Her mind kept gazing back
to what she had read the night before.
The Silence when you leave,
Will taunt my naked soul,
Stealing all good memories;
Turn diamond into coal.
 
Grief shall replace when
Fickle friend you’re gone,
The Sun and its resplendence,
The Glory of the Dawn
 
What happens to the hearts?
Of frailer substance made;
What happens to bare Desire
When it walks out of the shade?
 
These hearts when bludgeoned
Weaken and retire;
Sold for a promise-cheap
Is what becomes of Brave Desire?
 
The wedding bells toll;
Screaming they welcome thee
As you walk from what is
Real to Reality
 
All has been said
But if need be to reiterate;
What cannot be said in words?
Let silence now narrate

Chapter VI:
The candle flickered in the darkest corners of the room the horse riders’ leader was staying in..
Ever since he had heard the news of a deadly disease that had forced his people to flee, he had
been thinking about his forbidden love. He could no longer cage his swelling heart.

He sat on his desk, engulfed in by the smoke arising from the dying candle & reread his letter to
Amara:

“With us time doesn’t stop. It doesn’t end. But the space between us increases with each passing
day. I have sought to find refuge amongst these people. They do not fight, none wails in hunger
and neither does a general lead an army.

My dear, If the muses were still alive they would sings songs about our lives. About your life
and my life. For us there is only the season of sorrow. Outside it might be gold and clear. Inside
there is perpetual bedlam and strife. There is a pulsating inside, not unlike the painful throbbing
you feel when you are hurt or cut or wounded. I am hurt and wounded.
 
Before we went to war you had already won. You had won six years ago. You are, in certain
ways, still winning. I gave you everything I had kept and then gave you everything that I had
left. And you took. It would be criminal of me to suggest that I didn’t ask for anything back. I
asked for a little part of your spirit, your essence, your smell and stored it in the treasure-house of
my heart. I embalmed it with myrrh, frankincense and my tears. Tears, too, are sacred- how I
wish you had realized that. I thought you told me you could turn mine into pearls. You did. But
they were pearls before a swine. 
 
I do not understand the reason behind the calamity and disease that gripped us that I had to leave.
Now I find myself amongst a foreign people, black soil, gushing rivers and a morbid sense of
unease. I wonder if we carry the curse of the gods with us.

Debate has become pointless to me. Philosophy barren, knowledge profitless, words and
sentences of the great minds stuck in my mouth like soot and dry ash. Your silent act of love
unsealed and liberated me. In the beads of sweat that clung to your skin I could see my reflection
but no more.
Now, distance makes me a pariah. You and I are in a different place; separated, Isolated. I more
than you.  Do not tell me it is morality that has kept you away from me. Morality does not help
me. I am one of those who are made for exceptions, who don’t fall neatly between the margins. I
stand for the exceptions and not the laws.

 
Without you life has come to be a dilemma for me. But as you most certainly know I have
always been a Dilemma for Life. Life will give up. Until then I wish to spend my existence
fighting, seeking, and struggling.

I do not understand these people. I thought I was taking my people to live amongst those who
shared our spirit, whose essence was akin to ours. I do not yet realise if war or negotiation will
be a better prospect. I have no decided.
But who am I to talk. You are silent. Forever will be.”

Chapter VII:

Dark clouds cover the city, smoke billowing from the chimneys merges into them. What seems
like a view typical of the summers seem far too unrealistic. Animas quickly dresses up and
leaves to find Elami.

“These are not clouds!” he murmurs to himself.

“Never this dark. What is this!?”

He crisscrosses his way across the narrow, perfectly aligned streets and pauses for a moment to
see groups of people standing in the square block’s silvery courtyard, observing and pointing at
the sky.

“We must open the flood gates!”

“This was preordained, sand and stones will keep our bones, but indolence shall take us far
away.”

Animas barges through the door to Elami’s house.

“Elami? Elami!”
“Quickly come here!” a voice responds.

Animas finds Elami hunched over a pot and assorted equipment.

“What are you doing?” he asks.
“The clouds and the rivers. There is a connection.”
“What?”
“Remember the earthquake from last week?”
“What about it?”
“Seek shelter when the earth shakes and the mountains grumble,” remember the passage we once
discussed?
“Our ancestors were well aware of this. It’s not the first time this has happened. These are not
clouds, they are soot from an eruption in a place too far away for it took a week for this to reach
us after the quake.”

“And this is why the rivers are changing their course. Mothers of the rivers!” Animas exclaims.
“Yes!” Elami responds.
“This would mean that mountains in the north were affected by the earthquake. Water flow in the
rivers has slowed down or completely stopped. The animals recognised this. This is the reason
crocodiles were beginning to shift their territory. Presumably they can detect minute changes in
the water flow.” Animas speculates.
“And come see this.” Elami points.
“I collected the faeces from the crocodile. Once dried and placed in a boiling pot, it begins to
separate into its component chemicals. I matched some of the results with water collected from
recent rainfall. Same compounds!”
“But what does this mean?”
“I do not know myself but I think this has the reason young children have been dying lately.
How can the summers be this stern?”
“Or it could be the horse riders.”
“Could be. But we do not yet know for certain.”

Chapter VIII:

“The wind has taken its toll. Children fall first, parents collapse. What has happened to the city
of children? The sound of water and toys has been replaced by the soul shattering sounds of
wails. Vacant houses, desperate souls. It appears the curse of the demons has followed us here. I
sought to find a new refuge, a new home for my people but I wonder as guests we overstayed our
welcome. It appears we do not concern the demon any more, my people and my love seems to
have satisfied its hunger.”

The sole horse rider in the city sits atop the citadel and offers his prayers to the gods.

“Great sacrifice must be made to rejuvenate a people. I do not know where did the other tribes
went, oh lord. But bless us with what we have been given. You have created a world large
enough to house us all. We did not intend this to happen. ‘Surrender your swords and find the
path of negotiation’ the priest told us. And so we did. The demon follows where we go. Its
insatiable hunger feeds on the weakest, the frail, and the young. Forgive us oh people of the
black soil.”
Chapter IX:

Third age of the golden harvest comes to an end. The city that was once the home of artisans,
craftsmen, dancers and musicians now descends into silence. No longer can the smell of water
coursing its way beneath the streets can be heard. The Horsemen left some time ago to find
refuge elsewhere.

“Move with the rivers. Become the wind and be mindful of the shade… do not stay, do not ask.
Keep on…” Reads a broken plaque plastered onto a half crumbled wall.

“Winter has come and gone but understanding escaped our grasp,” whispers Animas.
“I had a dream once. Never understood the meaning behind it. Time is the essence of existence,
what once was is now gone, what is nothing today will become something tomorrow. As my
body begins to betray me, my friend, a part within me wonders about what will become of the
horseriders.
Who shall till these lands? Time shall create new cities. What remains of us will be long gone.
What connections between Land, Time and Causality shall be revealed? Rivers of these lands
will sustain new peoples, Time will play its own game and causality will work behind curtains.
Will they ever know what happened to us? Will our stories be read? Countless souls, restless
minds, passionate artisans and plenty of life. I wonder if the life I have spent understanding how
to improve the city in which I was birthed all recedes into nothingness. Perhaps I should have
worked to see if time can carry with something more than our silence.
Alas, nothing remains. Our language, our heritage, our story, my story, my city, my people. The
rivers betrayed us, angry demons befell upon us. And yet I do not know. We never knew.”

His frail legs do not grant him permission when he attempts to stand. He had decided long ago he
would not leave with those who had left. He pinches on the dry soil and rubs it on his face.
With little strength he is left with, Animas gently lowers a tablet engraved with the few passages
he can write and lays beside the grave of his dearest friend.

Epilogue:

“Come now. Be careful with the excavation, araam se!” directs Murtaza Hasan, an archeologist
from the University of Punjab.
“Sir, you’re getting old, this is no longer 1985. Technology has improved!”
“Careful still dear child. Place the tablet in the carrier. Let us hope this helps us understand what
any of even this means.”