"What are you after? Gold? Fame? or Sand?", asked the wayfarer with a least caring, and a mocking attitude, but with thoughtfulness of something I couldn't apprehend. "Say it, because I don't know you, and we will never cross our paths again, and because you need to, you badly need to". Surprisingly to my own self, I wasn't offended by this, because somewhere down within, I knew I wanted to talk.
"Where are you going to? Which city? It is the South of Karachi you are in, if you go further down you will find nothing but Malir naddi and you might touch Korangi,..." I tried to continue but he cut me sharply, "Say it, you alteregoistic, two faced, dead man!". His eyes were dashing, they were as if piercing through my own, and while knowing everything still ordering me to answer his question.
I was, by now, dumbfound. Not by his reaction, but by my own vagueness. "I don't know...", I replied, and not knowing, I sat on the roadside on the construction material that was always there on the road coming in towards Nad-e-Ali from Malir Halt's traffic signal. By now, I started to have a headache which I sometimes used to get whenever I started to think closely about relationships.
"Technically, to Him we belong and to Him is our return..." were the words I could manage to gather and utter to intellectually answer his question, something that I always try to do, when I was interrupted by something - a hand brushed my hairs, a very affectionate hand, and I had my usual feeling of I-don't-deserve-to-be-visited-by-noble-people starting to grip my heart and feel low about myself when the words came; "You don't need to borrow thoughts to answer questions to fulfill a situation. It is OK to lose. Lose your other face, let go of it, it is not who you are. The questions are about YOU, they are not about an imaginary perfect person, unless you intend to become one, which I have invited you for a million times, but you forget..."
The next moment, the same wayfarer was walking with a huge book, reading it while walking in a certain speed if not too fast, as if he had to reach somewhere. "Where did you get such a big book? Why are you reading it while you walk? What is so important with it?" I asked while starting to walk with him. He was too busy, rather too pensive, and murmured, "There is an important message at the end of the book that I have to reach". I could see a lot of Armenian, Arabic, Persian, some text apparently about numerology, and then some images I remembered I saw in some books of Solid State Physics. There were poems I could sense of Hafez scribbled on the sides of the pages of that book, not random notes, specifically written on purpose.
Suddenly, I noticed the glistening page at the end of the book. As the wayfarer walked, the pages would flutter and I could glimpse some text written at the center of that page - I instantly realized what it was and thought to myself, "This is the message he is after! This is the crux of this masterpiece!", and started walking in excitement and sheer curiosity, trying not to show that I am trying to read the most important message of this book, the heart of this book, and then I read it - completely, and stopped:
ایک الف تیرے درکار
An alphabet should do for you
I felt the time passing by my sides, whilst my body standing at a certain point in time. He looked back for a moment and continued walking, and said in a sigh, "You have to walk. You cannot stop. You cannot jump to the last page without reading the book, as much as you can, as much you understand, you have to go through it to understand that last message."